Damned City
by Jackal Scribe
Summary: Something strange is happening in the city of Cairo, and dark forces converge on the Triumphant City, as a terrible and ancient secret risks being unearthed. Please R&R, not another "Drac-Anna is back" story.
1. Damned City Chapter 01

Customary Disclaimers: I don't own most of the characters in this story. Dracula, Renfield Frankenstein, and Frankensten's monster are public domain properties. Aleera, Verona, and Marishka belong to Universal Studios. Konrad Dippel is a historical figure. Put his name into google if you want to know who he was. Karim Tadros, Rafik Mrad, Jarha the Mad, Father Nibel, and Nayla are my copyrighted characters, so ask before using them.

It was a sight Karim had grown painfully familiar with since the curse had set in, but had still not gotten comfortable with. He was crouched in a dark corner of the alley, sobbing as quietly as he could. He didn't dare to clear his tears with his hands though. Bloody stains had already riddled his hands, and he certainly didn't need more on his face. The vile rats and stray cats avoided the gaunt man weeping in the alley; their instinctual minds could sense the predator within him, and avoided him rather than gamble with their lives. Above him the city of Cairo continued to sleep as though Karim was nothing. A desert wind idly soared above the decaying rooftops of the shadow drenched city, weaving past great mosques and humble tenements with equal ease. Had Karim been looking up, he might have reflected on how truly small base man is compared to the natural world. He of all men would know this, as the blood on his hands attested to.

Eventually, he got back on his feet and staggered out of the alley, his path illuminated by the smallest sliver of the moon. His tattered clothing afforded him little insulation against the winds blowing through the streets, and his steps were marked by small shivers. He had lost the day's alms to the change from man to monster, and found himself without food or a place to rest. Every night, save for the new moon, was like this however. Every night, he would battle the demon that had burrowed into his soul and turned him into this vicious akh-theeb, brother to the wolves. He didn't understand why God would afflict him with this terrible curse. Not that he had lost his faith. No, his faith was all that kept him human in this new state. However, his doubts and confusion saw him seeking succor from the faiths of the land. Desperation had become his way of life, the desperation of animal.

The other vagrants of the streets, human as they were, could not sense Karim's secret as readily as the vermin. They continued sleeping or wandering, heedless of the demon in their mists. A few were casting arrows, and as Karim passed by, his fellows shouted obscenely for him to join in the game, but Karim shook his head weakly. Despite the distraction offered by the rush of gambling, he needed a much more potent vice at the moment. The streets were silent as a cemetery, with most of the triumphant city's people still sleeping, a world away from the evils that thrived in darkness and wore the masks of men by day. The desolation helped Karim forget the ache in his belly, and for that he was thankful. As usual, his path took him towards the church he had attended when he was a child, so he could receive the Lord's forgiveness yet again. He hated himself for begging God to continue cleansing him of sins committed while he lost control of the wolf within, but without it, his soul would be wounded beyond redemption, dooming him to Hell, where there would surely be more demons like him.

He rapped on the iman's door when he arrived at the temple, taking a deep breath to steel his perpetually frayed nerves. It always made him nervous when he came here, despite the frequency of his visits. He should have nothing to fear, for he knew the iman very well, and trusted him enough to share his sins with the old holy man. Naturally Karim could not bring himself to speak of his curse; instead he claimed he was mad, and compelled to murder at night against his will. Although the iman was initially suspicious, his pity for the genuinely remorseful vagrant he had watched grow up overcame him.

When Father Nibel answered the door, he had clearly been woken up from slumber, but hardly seemed surprised to see Karim in the light of the candle he was clutching. He simply ushered Karim in through the back door of the church without a word. Karim sighed deeply as he shifted his gaze downward with shame. Nibel left his charge to think in silence for a time, until they reached the iman's table. A pot of cold lentils and beans, set aside for a morning meal, was all that could be seen on the table. Nibel placed his candlestick on the table next to the pot, allowing him to see Karim in the flickering light. Before the old man quivered a younger man, stretched gaunt and sickly by his struggles. Karim's pitch black hair had grown long and wild, reaching down his shoulders and swinging past his eyes. His eyes were reflections of the terror he felt, and his clothing, shredded trousers and shirt, was soaked in blood. Nibel motioned for Karim to sit at the table wordlessly, before sitting down himself, exposing his own white haired and aged visage to the light.

"Karim," he said softly in the tone of a wizened man, "what brings you around here at this hour?"

"I'm afraid I've committed grievous sins against my will again," Karim replied weakly, "and I'd like to receive forgiveness in the eyes of the Lord.

"You still refuse to see a doctor to rid you of this madness?" Nibel said with a deep, vaguely disappointed sigh.

"No madhouse could hold me when I lose control, and being so near to others would only endanger anyone trying to heal me. You've know this."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Although you cannot fight this on your own."

"I have God. He'll show me the path in time."

"But remember my boy, the Lord helps those who help themselves. He'll grant you forgiveness, but you must save your soul on your own."

"I... know," Karim said softly.

"There's a spoon in the pot, feed yourself first while I prepare to receive your confession," Nibel said reluctantly. He then departed from the table, and Karim sated his snarling belly, preparing to do the same to his soul. All the while, the wolf in his soul growled with satisfaction.

Document: Excerpt from a Cairo Newspaper

Mysterious Murders Continue

Another murder was committed last night just outside Cairo, and although the method of death was similar to others, the police say there is little evidence for them to work with. Like previous murders, it appears that the victim was stabbed and slashed numerous times in quick succession, with no murder weapon to be found. Police say that they suspect that there is one culprit responsible for all the murders, although they admit they are still a long way from identifying that culprit. The Colonial Governer is said to have called Scotland Yard in Britian for assistance in solving the crime. 


	2. Damned City Chapter 02

Elsewhere, far from the deathly silent streets of Cairo, further out past the wasteland known as the Valley of the Kings, Dr. Richard Harrison was combing through a tomb carved into a rock cliff. He was the very picture of the proud British explorer; a honed body, tanned white, and carrying an educated air about him. Tonight however, he was clutching a lantern and repressing his rage. He fumed silently as he searched the tomb. It had been clear since the mound of stone and remarkably strong seals were removed that this burial had been hastily built, and appeared to have been ransacked ages ago, even though there was no sign of an intrusion. It took months on end for Dr. Harrison to unearth this tomb, apparently for nothing. It would seem at first that there was nothing to be had for an archeologist such as Dr. Harrison.  
  
But there were many strange things in this particular tomb, things that were unknown in the field. The stone walls were etched with bizarre hieroglyphs intermingled with more common symbols. Artifacts which seemed to serve no discernable purpose were scattered about the grave, bearing disturbing images of demonic creatures, violent acts, and strange occult ceremonies. And the mummy contained within a crude heavy stone coffin was remarkably well preserved, even for an Egyptian. Although his hired workmen had demanded that the expedition leave the tomb for the elements, Dr. Harrison would hear nothing of it. The strange sounds coming from the burial site only confirmed, in his mind, that his men had simply wanted to ransack this tomb for themselves. That too he would not tolerate. He would search this grave up and down until he found the belligerent Arab who dared to impede the work of an Englishman.  
  
There was a scuffle of footsteps, and the doctor jerked his head to face the noise, his lantern following a second later. The footsteps were promptly silenced, but there was nothing to been seen. Dr. Harrison scowled, and continued searching. The footsteps returned once again, but as had happened the last time, nothing was revealed.  
  
"All right you hooligan, this is my excavation site," the doctor said firmly, the voice of a British man used to being in control, "and I demand you show yourself to me and leave this area immediately! If you choose to do so, I promise you my mercy, and will be allowed to leave. If you choose to continue eluding me, I will react in turn, and hand you over to the authorities."  
  
His response was a raspy chuckle from deeper into the tomb. Infuriated by this grave robber's mockery, the doctor forged ahead with his flickering lantern. His eyes widened when he realized where the chuckling was coming from. The sarcophagus chamber! This thief may have already destroyed an almost perfect mummy! He dashed through the deathly silent halls covered in mystic symbols of a world long forgotten, desperate to save the most valuable artifact in the entire grave. When he reached the burial chamber, he was stunned to see that everything was in the same condition he had left it in earlier in the day. The lid of massive granite coffin, unadorned in stark contrast to the rest of the tomb, was resting on the ground nearby. The mummy, the nearly perfectly preserved corpse swathed in decaying linen bandages, laid as passively as ever in the stone cradle. Dr. Harrison leaned over into the coffin to be certain about the state of his find.  
  
Something about the corpse seemed off. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was something considerably bizarre. He scanned the ancient body, starting with the feet. The blasphemous charms and amulets were still in the bindings, the foul smelling herbs placed with the corpse like packing were untouched, and not even the layer of dust left by removing the lid seemed to have been violated at all. And still, something was different, something was wrong. And then the doctor reached the mummy's face.  
  
The face, dead for at least four thousand years, was grinning wickedly.  
  
The bold explorer, who had seen nearly every danger the British Empire had to offer, paled when he realized what he was seeing. He was too distracted to notice dead hands encircling his throat. 


	3. Damned City Chapter 03

It was another bleak night out in the Carpathian Mountains. But then, they were all rather bleak around the domain of Vladislaus Dracula, now known only as Dracula. The ancient nobleman however was no where to be found in the castle on this predictably eerie night. Inside, the castle was a place of hurried movement and near anarchy. In time three of the finest coffins ever to be built emerged from this spinning mass of chaos. The coffin's bearers were many in number and great in strength, for the coffins had been built to resist deliberate attacks as well as the natural elements. Their grim procession was a silent one, but their presence caused any who they came across to fall into silence as well. Fear of the coffins' owners turned the frenzied activity of the castle into an almost mechanical routine. The three coffins were carefully removed from the castle, and put into three carriages waiting outside the fortress. Following the procession of empty coffins and directing the entire endeavor, was Marishka. Her mood was as foul as it ever was when her master wasn't present, although the fear she struck into the hearts of her servants could hardly be faulted as ineffective. Indeed, had she not been watching, the weight of the caskets may well have overwhelmed the dozen strong men it took to carry them.  
  
In spite of the screaming winds and rolling thunder that were racing across the midnight skies above, the stronghold's parapet was graced with the presence of Verona and Aleera. Both of the dead noble's wives watched the coffins being loaded on to the carriages. Their expressions were as grim as the castle they called home and haven.  
  
"I can't believe the Master wishes to go to the lands of the heathens," Aleera said with the slightest of hisses.  
  
"He's Count Dracula," Verona replied, her voice thick with sarcasm, "he'll do whatever he damn well pleases. No matter how mad a scheme it is."  
  
"This is surely the maddest plot he's yet to concoct. What exactly does he plan to find in that hellish desert land anyway?"  
  
"I haven't the slightest idea. All he told me was that there was something out there that concerned him greatly. If I didn't know any better I'd say he was frightened by whatever phantasm he'll be chasing down," Verona said, in an almost conspiratorial tone.  
  
"Surely you jest," Aleera replied with a sneer, "Count Dracula, conqueror of the Turks, the most feared fiend in Transylvania, is afraid of some Moor living out in a wasteland?"  
  
"Why would I jest about such things?"  
  
That silenced Aleera for a moment. She sighed, and turned her gaze back towards the ground below, where Marishka had just left the carriages.  
  
"I suppose she's coming to fetch us so that we may join the Master in his inane little expedition," Aleera said.  
  
"What else would she be doing other than lording whatever power she can claim while the Master is away? I'd think it better we simply get to the Master as soon as possible so that she can no longer order us around like servants."  
  
Aleera nodded to her fellow bride and began descending down the stairs of the parapet to meet the carriages. Verona remained, staring at the sky. She hadn't seen the sun rise above these mountains in ages, the memories of the sight blurred by age and her undead nature. The idea of sunlight piercing the unending shadows of the Carpathians seemed almost fantasy to her. And now she was preparing to leave this darkened land to one scorched by the light of day. She shook her head weakly as she followed Aleera down the cold, eroded stone steps, wondering if indeed the Son of the Dragon had gone mad. 


	4. Damned City Chapter 04

Document: Telegraph sent from Alexandria to Bucharest  
  
Master STOP Have found vague location of unknown tomb STOP Believe it to be what you seek STOP Have arranged haven in Cairo STOP Renfield STOP  
  
A shifty looking man meandered into the university of Strasbourg on a day marked by thick, sunlight smothering clouds. His ragged clothing and dirty countenance made him stick out among the body of students and professors. He skulked through the old stone halls as though his presence was the most natural thing in the world, paying no heed, perhaps even enjoying, the curious and scornful looks he was drawing to himself. However, he was hardly the first or last such shady character to grace the halls of learning. No one watching him was surprised when he approached a certain office door and knocked on it. It took but a few moments for Doctor Victor Frankenstein, the morbid professor of medicine with perhaps the most sinister reputation of any professor the university had ever known. The secretive doctor raised his spectacles to get a good look at the man at his door.  
  
"Ah, Boris, how good of you to pay me a visit," he said as he ushered the shifty man into his office, although to many observers, it seemed much more like grabbing and pulling him in. The door creaked shut behind the two men, safely obfuscating them.  
  
"Dr. Frankenstein," Boris began, his fear of the doctor becoming painfully apparent, "my cousin in Transylvania happened across this telegraph message yesterday."  
  
Boris cautiously revealed a crumpled copy of Renfield's telegraph, obtained in secret through the doctor's web of spies and contacts. Victor simply snatched up the paper and read it without expressing a reaction until he spoke.  
  
"You may name your price for this telegraph, Boris," he said after a while, "You've done well."  
  
"Thank you Doctor. I believe fifty would be a fair price," Boris said timidly, struggling to act as though he were in control, but his years of working for the doctor had changed the once belligerent criminal.  
  
"Consider it done," Victor said flatly, searching his desk for a handful of coins which he handed to Boris. Boris nodded to the doctor and starting excusing himself from the room. Once Boris had left, Dr. Frankenstein reviewed the telegraph again.  
  
"Interesting Count, what could you be up to in Egypt?" Victor muttered to himself. Talking to himself had become a habit of his as of late.  
  
"I don't suppose this has anything to do with the murdered English archeologist? No, we both know better," he continued, "We both know there's something unusual happening when a man can be murdered in a ransacked tomb with no witnesses and half a dozen alibis for every possible suspect. However, I suspect that now's a fine time to cease procrastinating and finally unearth the secrets of the ancient embalmers for myself. Yes, I believe I shall sign on to the university's next expedition to Egypt. And how fortunate that such a trip be planned for so soon! I'll see what you're up to for myself soon enough."  
  
The doctor than exited his office after his rambling diatribe to pay a visit to the department of archeology, and after a simple application of his influence over the university, he convinced the otherwise reluctant professors to allow Dr. Frankenstein to act as a "field advisor and resident physician" for the small expedition that was to leave for Egypt in five days. Victor then made his way towards the office of his associate, Doctor Konrad Dippel. He knocked on the door with all due politeness, for being a scientist with the power over life and death did not excuse one from acting as a gentleman. The younger physician who entered the door was quite surprised to see Victor, but to this Victor paid no heed.  
  
"Ah, Dr. Dippel, just who I needed to converse with, yes. You have five days to arrange transport for Adam to Cairo. Make haste, but as careful as ever. A simple task really. I'll prepare Adam for his journey myself." 


	5. Damned City Chapter 05

Since inheriting his curse, Karim had been unable to sleep well. This was as much the fault of his guilty conscience as it was that of his sudden poverty in the wake of his infection, two banes no amount of wine could not ease. Guilt and a ratty old bedroll were hardly the best circumstances to win a good night's sleep. But as he writhed in his sleep on the streets of Cairo, something much worse than a nightmare was echoing in his mind. It seemed as though something were calling to him from beyond time and space. Something from realms even demons like werewolves were not meant to understand. Something that was calling his name.  
  
His sleeping body tensed as he continued to dream the twisted dream. A presence entered his mind. At first the unknowable presence was but an observer, probing the depths of Karim's soul. Then it began communicating, not in the tongue of men or gods, but in the voice of thoughts and nightmares. The sensations of smothering confinement for centuries on end rushed into the sleeper's head, and Karim felt as if he were being strangled by hateful hands. Then a slow sense of shame and failure grew like a corrupted seed in his soul. He knew he had failed to perform some task of dire importance, and was punished with millennia of imprisonment for his failure. Any sense of time or reality he had was blurred and muddled by these alien sensations. These were clearly not his thoughts. And then, darkness. The world seemed to have lost all light from the sun and moon, and Karim was back on the streets. There was no life on the streets though, not even the derelicts and criminals who were most active while the rest of the city slept. It was as if Karim was the only one left in Cairo. Karim took a few fearful steps forward in the reality of his dream. His footsteps made no sound on the streets, and he was only barely aware that something was unusual. Unbeknownst to him, the same presence creating a mental fog preventing the tortured werewolf from realizing he was in a dreamscape.  
  
Footsteps started echoing down the streets of the ghost town, but Karim could tell they were not his own. They belonged to something walking the same streets as Karim, something he could not see in the darkness. But he could feel it moving ever closer to him. What it was, it seemed to be more corrupt than any devil, and more ancient than any holy site. Not knowing what else to do while drowning in the sea of shadows, Karim prayed. This only caused the presence to express amusement, as though prayer was a fool's action in this reality. Karim seethed with anger at having his faith so openly mocked, but this only earned him further mockery. The presence then gleefully gave Karim a small sense of its true nature, causing Karim to suddenly feel as though he were growing smaller. Seemingly satisfied, the presence spoke its first words.  
  
"Karim Tadros, you have been chosen to break the seal," was all the booming, raspy voice had to say before it departed, forcing Karim awake with a horrified shriek. 


	6. Damned City Chapter 06

The merciless noon day sun was razing the city of Cairo when Victor walked past the screaming beggar. His face an emotionless mask, he turned towards the vagrant with a skeptical eye. The beggar scrambled away, a noticeable limp in his stride. It was somewhat curious that this Egyptian man had no noticeable injuries, but Victor had far greater concerns. He continued on his way, expecting to never see the same beggar again. The doctor was wearing a dignified, if wrinkled from travel, grey suit of clear western make as he passed through the streets. Were it not for his cold demeanor and the fear inspired by British troops, the doctor would have been assaulted in the streets. Victor didn't particularly care what the local underbelly thought of him. If they should attempt to attack him, he could defend himself with ease.  
  
He approached the riverside warehouse with the same detached confidence he had walking the streets. Victor let himself in, not bothering to knock. Waiting for him was Konrad, who was pacing nervously next to a certain crate, distinguished from the other wooden boxes by the holes made to allow air in and the seal of the Frankenstein family. Dr. Dippel's nervousness only increased exponentially when his associate walked into the warehouse. Victor again paid no heed.  
  
"Konrad, may I assume that Adam made it through the journey well enough?" Victor asked as he retrieved a key from his jacket pocket.  
  
"I haven't asked him yet, as I believe he's still slumbering," Konrad replied, handing Victor a rather strange gauntlet bearing a small electrical apparatus not unlike that used to bring Frankenstein's creation to life, and a keyhole.  
  
"Well then, I we'll just have to wake the slothful abomination then," Victor said nonchalantly, sliding the key into the gauntlet, and turning it, bringing it humming to life, "Konrad, if you'll do the honors of opening the crate?"  
  
"Damn it Victor, I've been against this project since it conceived this thing. Why shouldn't we simply drop him in the river and be rid of him for good?" Konrad said, nearly wailing towards the end.  
  
"Konrad, remember that you are as guilty as I in birthing this deformed horror. You know that should we lose sight of him, he'll surely do to us what he did to my brother. Is that so hard to understand, Doctor Dippel? Or do you wish to have your neck snapped in twine?" Victor replied casually.  
  
Konrad scowled impotently, before taking a crowbar and prying the top off the crate, releasing the foul stench of bloated corpses into the air of the warehouse, a scent that only grew worse in the burning sun. Nestled within, strapped in with steel manacles, was the monster that had made Dr. Frankenstein's reputation across the world. Deadened grey appendages laid stiff at the monster's side. Mechanically enhanced limbs were welded on to parts of the flesh, furthering the abomination's distance from humanity. Victor simply positioned himself above the bound fiend.  
  
"How are we feeling on this fine hellish day?" Victor said in the manner of a doctor at a patient's bedside. The creature's eyes shot open to stare at Victor balefully.  
  
"I feel as though I've been reduced to the status of an animal," Adam, the first of his artificial race, replied.  
  
"I see we're still a tad cross about the travel arrangements. Really now, you honestly couldn't have expected to simply ride the rails, now could you?"  
  
"The circumstances do not change this grave affront to my dignity. Abomination though I may be, I am still a man, and I demand I be treated as such!" the monster roared with indignation.  
  
"You know Adam," Victor began musing aloud to his creation, "ever since I gave you this sick mockery of life, I've ceased to believe in immortal souls. I've learned in time that we are all simply constructs of flesh, bone, and fluids. Our ideals of righteousness, spiritual meaning, desire, and yes, even our sense of identity, all are but electrical and chemical impulses resulting from the way our bodies function. Neither you nor I may make any claim of being above an animal."  
  
"You've always been more of an abomination than I, Frankenstein!" Adam roared, thrashing against his chains.  
  
"Abomination, Adam? Who among us is the fiend who slew so many of my kin?" Victor snarled back at his rebellious creation.  
  
"Damn you Frankenstein, you gave me no other choice!"  
  
"My point has clearly gone over your head," Victor said coldly, before turning a dial on his gauntlet ever so slightly, "perhaps I need to provide you with a demonstration."  
  
The freakish device than surged with electricity, a small bolt of artificial lightning dived into a rather strange bolt set in the monster's forehead. Frankenstein's monster then howled with pain as the bolt traveled through his unnaturally animated body. The screams seemed to delight Victor with perverse glee. Once it's suffering was over, all Adam could do was breathe heavily, struggling instinctively to retain his life.  
  
"Now do you see my point? Not only may I slay you at my leisure, but had you what is mockingly referred to as a soul, you would not have suffered so terribly. But you're nothing more than dead flesh and lightning. You hardly have any right to bemoan what I'm doing to you, considering you seem to place no value on any life other than your own," Victor said harshly, every bit of malice he had for his creation seeping into his voice.  
  
"Damn you Frankenstein..." the monster hissed weakly.  
  
"You're no man Adam. You're a demon. But for the first time since your birth, I'm actually glad to have you around. A failed experiment may still prove to be useful. Tell me, did you hear tales of Count Dracula in that space of time where you had run away to the Artic?" Victor inquired with the same sadism he had while attacking Adam.  
  
"The fiend was mentioned in my travels, yes," the monster said softly, slowly regaining his composure, "From the tales, he seems to be as terrible as you, a comrade in perversion."  
  
"The dead nobleman is no comrade," Victor said with a chuckle, "but a rival. We both seek the secrets of life and death, but now I have the chance to wrest those secrets from this cursed land before he does. And you are going to aid me in besting him, or you will be slain where you stand. Do you understand?"  
  
Adam simply nodded, his expression one of submission. 


	7. Damned City Chapter 07

Vladislaus Dracula idly paced on the roof of the tenement Renfield had purchased on behalf of his master in the English part of the city, occasionally sipping at a goblet stained with the blood of the harlots he had seduced. A few of them were still alive, chained in the tenement's basement. They would surely be suitable meals for his brides. The trio of succubae were bound to arrive any night now, and Dracula was certainly not going to be caught unprepared. He sighed deeply, already anticipating the agony they would visit upon him for dragging them all the way to the lands of the heathen Arabs. Indeed, he could barely fathom why he himself was here in the first place. As a man he had conquered the invading Turks with the same ruthless ability he would become famous for. Nothing would stop him from turning back their aggressions, and his people loved him for it. They were quite contented with his rule, and cheered his name further when he impaled one Turk after the other on wooden stakes. Less beloved was his policy of applying the same punishments to those among his own people who would oppose him. He was held in dread by Transylvanians and Turks alike. And now he was deep in the heartlands of the same beastial men he'd slaughtered so many of during his life. He certainly wasn't expecting to receive any of the respect he had won from his people in these alien lands.  
  
Still, he had felt something unnatural happen. According to Renfield, the strangeness was hardly confined to Dracula; a number of mystics and monsters had likewise felt it. None could explain it, and even through Dracula's formidable arcane abilities and mundane skills, he had learned nothing worthwhile. He then sent his brides to seek out a Gypsy mystic he had consulted decades before. She was allowed into his castle as a young woman with intention of consuming her blood, but when she offered to divine the future, Dracula was intrigued. She spoke of horrible winged demons seeking to take the Impaler's ancestral lands in the Carpathians by force. Oaths were frantically sworn as she was dragged to the vampire's "wine cellar" where he kept future meals. He thought nothing of her prophecy until the night the gargoyles first assaulted his castle. The first strike was repelled at great cost to Dracula, and afterwards he personally pulled her from her cell and demanded she aid him in defeating the stone beasts. Naturally she bargained for her life until Dracula had sworn on his nobility and honor that he would free her afterwards. With her knowledge and divination, he was not only able to defeat the gargoyles, but also enslave them to his will.  
  
The Gypsy woman was the only victim Dracula had ever spared of his own free will. He turned back towards the streets when he heard the sounds of carriage horses. Three coaches without windows were clear to the vampire's sight. His brides had arrived, but he felt little need to greet them. He would let Renfield deal with them, show them their waiting victims, and keep them out of his way for the night. Women had, despite Dracula's famed powers of seduction, always proven to be more trouble than they were worth to the undead noble. Even the Gypsy mystic proved to be difficult to deal with. She clearly had no regard for the Son of the Dragon, and proved to be the be the same paranoid negotiator she was forty years before. This time however, she demanded not only the count swear on his nobility that she would be safe, but also that her guards would be granted the same safety. A reluctant lord Dracul agreed to these terms, on the condition that he be able to slay any of her entourage who raised a hand against him.  
  
When the Gypsies arrived, they were lead by a withered old woman with a presence as great as Dracula's had been when he could still draw breath. His power had grown since his death, but this old woman was still impressive. Her divinations seemed to be as insightful as ever. The now old woman spoke to Dracula, and said that she too had felt the strangeness. Her words struke Dracula's heart as he imagined a stake would. She said quite simply that something more evil, and far older than Dracula had awakened in a land more ancient than Transylvania. The count was initially suspicious of these words, but when the old mystic claimed that should the dark being be allowed to recover Dracula would eventually be overpowered by the monster that had just woken up, he took notice. Although the rest of her prophecy was vague, Dracula had become convinced that the land of the fiend was Egypt. His brides had no interest in the old woman, and they were forbidden to hear her as well. They knew nothing of why he was in this foreign land, and he knew he would have to steel his nerves before greeting them. He didn't get the chance however.  
  
"Master!" he heard Verona shriek behind him. It reminded Dracula of a dog in many ways, but he opted to turn around slowly with a false expression of joy. Behind Verona were his two other brides. They all seemed happy to see him, with the same dog like enthusiasm Verona had shown earlier.  
  
"Lovelies," he said to them all in the dark but genial tone, "I trust your trip was comfortable?"  
  
"Yes Master," they replied in near perfect unison.  
  
"I've taken the liberty of procuring you all meals in the basement, and I will trust that you will sate yourselves."  
  
"Renfield directed us towards the whores Master," Verona said.  
  
"A very fine meal at that," Mariskha chimed in, eager as ever to please her husband. Aleera simply nodded in agreement to the words of her sisters.  
  
Inwardly, Dracula cursed. He was apparently stuck with his spawn for the night. But his flawless countenance remained as it had been. The first grin of his that was genuine came when he came up with the perfect way to keep them from driving him mad for a night.  
  
"Well my dears, I suggest you become familiar with this city and its customs as soon as possible. Say, I've got an idea. Why don't you three lovelies go out and find a local gentlemen's club, learn the how things are done in this land?"  
  
It was then that Dracula needed only to appear stern to send his brides into the Cairo night. The desert winds continued their mad dance of the night past Dracula as though he were not there at all. Perhaps it was his apprehension over being a foreign land, but Dracula could feel the bite of a cold wind piercing his bones. Not even the savage gusts of the Carpathians could induce such sensations upon his dead flesh. Vladislaus Dracula gazed upon the cityscape of Cairo again. So much darkness he saw then, watching shadows engulf unsteadily modernizing city. A warped mix of modern buildings and relics of ages long gone by, all drowned in the darkness Dracula thought he had come to understand. 


	8. Damned City Chapter 08

Karim was curled up in Ali's coffee house outside the university, slowly savoring the water pipe Ali was kind enough to let him use to calm his nerves. Next to him was a cup of the cheapest wine he could afford. Despite the best efforts of Cairo's Muslim devout, alcohol was still readily available in the city, and Karim took every chance he had to drown his fears and apprehensions in wine. In fact, he couldn't see himself going a day without the intoxicating elixir. A small sliver of the moon was watching the earth from above, and the weight of that sliver seemed to be on Karim's soul. Every second was a struggle against the urges of the werewolf he kept hidden. However, on nights where the moon was thin, he could maintain his composure much easier. In fact, there times when he could live as normal human being while the moon was in the sky. Ali's water pipe also helped Karim remain human, in its own quiet way.  
  
There was a sudden outburst of commotion at the door, and Karim lifted his eyes to see what was going on. The voices making the noise were men, men who were voicing confusion. The object of their confusion however, remained undeterred. A woman, a European woman, had meandered casually into the coffee house. Her skin was as pale as alabaster, and her hair was pale brown shade. Her dress, an anachronistic item that was more revealing than it was originally meant to be, seemed wildly out of place in the coffeehouse. In spite of this, she meandered over towards Ali, who seemed to fall under some hex when she approached. The strange woman ordered a cup of coffee before finding her own seat towards the back of the house. She watched the mostly male crowd with gleeful eyes, apparently amused by the strange looks she was getting for violating Muslim taboo. However, the men in the house were no better, for they stared at her to the exclusion of everything else.  
  
Like most of the men, Karim was stunned by this unusually strange European. Unlike the others however, he didn't spend too much time staring. He went back to his pipe, and continued using it until he noticed the woman's eyes falling upon him. He turned towards her timidly, the combination of nerves and chemicals keeping him shaking terribly. When he first met her eyes, she was smiling. The enigmatic woman shifted in her seat a bit, her practiced grace making her seem all the more inviting. She motioned for Karim, a clear vagrant and possible madman, to come over towards her with a coy expression. To Karim, this seemed too perfect. He had spent the last few months apart from the rest of the human race, forced apart from others save for Nibel, and even the iman was keep at a safe distance. To be invited by this strange woman seemed to be some kind of mistake. But Karim had no misgivings as he made the first few steps towards her. His mind was flooded with enticing mental images of the strange woman, sinful dreams of the crudest kind.  
  
It was then that the presence returned to Karim's mind. The presence, secretive as ever, brushed past the hapless vagrant, barely staying longer than a moment. But in that moment, Karim's perceptions had been altered. The woman, once lively and seductive, had changed in visage radically. Her once pale skin had become rotted and decayed, while her movements stiffened into the later stages of rigor mortis. Where once she was inviting and attractive, now she was repulsive and frightful. Karim wanted nothing to do with her in this new sight, and promptly stumbled out of the coffee house, leaving the pipe and the walking corpse woman behind. Verona was stunned by this turn of events, too stunned to do anything save remain at her table. She had always been an adept seductress, and it made no sense that this desperate vagrant should resist her. Karim however was sent racing into the Cairo night, fighting to restrain the wolf inside. Although this walking dead woman was terrible, his greatest fear was now that of the unseen and overpowering presence. 


	9. Damned City Chapter 09

If one were to listen close enough, one could hear a sound of twisted laughter emanating from the fifteenth office in the Cairo Museum's Egyptology department. Inside the office of Professor Rafik Mrad, a recent associate of the museum who was quickly attaining a reputation for insights in the field despite suspect credentials, a withered old man was seated over an ancient bronze bowl etched with profane hieroglyphs and filled with water. The nearly skeletal horror in the office resembled the mummies placed in the museum's vaults, it's warped and wrinkled skin dancing with the names and images of the corrupted gods the creature had worshipped in life. His teeth and nails had been filed into razored points, while stringy grey hairs of great length emerged in patches scattered throughout the thing's head. In one hand he held a gnarled and rusted bronze dagger, and in the other a slowly dying cobra. The weakened but still thrashing serpent's blood was dripping into the water as the monster's trance continued, his widened eyes peering into the water. His grin was wicked and fierce in spite of, and in many ways because of, his trance. He had been monitoring his key through a scrying bowl, but what he sensed was a surprise. A vampire of all things had attempted to seduce his key. He had also sensed this undead parasite had some manner of link to others of her kind.  
  
Naturally the corpse-man was hardly afraid of the undead parasites. Indeed, he had slain a number of them for the sake of research in his own quest for unending life. What the parasites were doing in Khem now called Egypt, the professor could not say for certain, but he had scryed the presence of a great and terrible power in these lands, and suspected that there was some sort of connection. Leeches were however, the least of the monster's worries. Now he had to worry about that fool Karim Tadros. The beggar knew nothing of what he was, or the power his condition offered. The creature knew this would make him all the easier to manipulate, but caution still seemed warranted. In time, he would bring the man marked by Anubis to him, yes. In the meantime, the creature need only avoid destruction at the hands of others.  
  
The trance ended as smoothly as it had begun, the corpse-man returning to the senses of his ancient body. It always gave him a strange thrill to return to his unnaturally animated form. He had violated temples and tombs without number to piece together the magic Anubis and Isis used to give new life to Osiris. The people of the two lands grew to hate and fear him, even as they falsely assumed that he was but a greedy grave robber unafraid of sacrilege. In truth, he was so much more than he seemed to be, and he had skillfully kept the truth from coming to light until the very end. That time was all he needed to corrupt the divine magics into a twisted but powerful reflection. Where once the mythical rites granted life eternal, they were warped into inducing a strange and terrible form of living death. Where once it celebrated life, it was turned into a glorification of death; indeed the price the monster paid to perform the ritual was the bloody sacrifice of every last member of the cult he had gathered around himself. They offered themselves to his knife willingly, fully aware of what their lives were being spilled on the on the ground for. But they were not giving up their lives and souls simply for the fiend's life. No, they accepted the knife for the gods of Void, and died so that their mad prophet may live forever to serve and speak for those same blasphemous gods.  
  
When the monster had completed his work, he laid his knife down and reached over towards his desk, grabbing a talisman of leopard claw. As he slide the chain over his neck, his visage began to change. Hair grew and shortened into a socially presentable length, turning a wizened shade of white, as nails and teeth shifted to resemble those of a human. The fiend's skin stretched out and took on a healthy tan. By the time the shift was complete, none would know that the gaunt middle aged man in the office was the same horror that had be there a moment before. Grinning to himself, the man known as Rafik Mrad put his tools into their hiding places, before heading out to the coffee house his charge had fled. There was a busy night ahead of him. 


	10. Damned City Chapter 10

The lord of castle Frankenstein prowled the grime and shadow drenched streets of Cairo, accompanied now by a still nervous Dr. Konrad and his creation. Although Konrad and Victor remained in their suits, the monster was covered in the clothes of the local populace; a heavy robe and a head clothe left only the terror's face to be seen, a welcome relief from the usual hassles of hiding his creation in Europe. Victor, cold and detached as ever, still wore the gauntlet that allowed him to control the monster. Konrad was carrying another freakish device only the mad doctor of Strasbourg could have conceived, let alone built.  
  
"Victor, what in the hell is this infernal contraption supposed to do?" Konrad asked, clearly nervous and irritated by the entire endeavor.  
  
"It's actually quite simple, Konrad," Victor replied calmly, in his lecturing tone, "The device measures fields of electricity in a vicinity, but it is designed to distinguish between natural electricity and the reanimating surges that keep corpses such as Adam and our undead quarry moving in their twisted parody of life. If you doubt my theory, I insist you turn the device on our patchwork friend."  
  
Konrad, ever the skeptic, turned the machine towards the monstrous Adam. A small clicking sound flared to life for a split second, before Konrad turned it away from the creation. This earned a sneer from the monster.  
  
"Really Frankenstein," Adam said in his low, deep voice, "what do you expect to do with Dracula once you've found him?"  
  
"Observation, my short sighed creation," Victor replied, "We shall see what the count seeks in this land, and act after we acquire that knowledge."  
  
"I certainly wouldn't shed many tears if I had to travel this far simply to get away from you foul presence," the monster said.  
  
"Honestly Adam, your wit is like acid," Victor said sarcastically.  
  
The exchange was cut short by a sudden burst of clicks from the device. The party immediately turned their heads towards where the device was pointed. Across the street, dressed in a fine set of local clothing, was an Egyptian man heading down the streets with a quiet but apparent determination that kept others on the streets out of his way. Victor grabbed the device to read it for himself.  
  
"Konrad, I've never seen readings like these before. He's clearly reanimated, but no creature I've tested this on before has a pattern of reanimating electrics like this one," Victor said in amazement.  
  
"Perhaps he's a species of undead that's native to the region?" Konrad said in this most professional tone, the allure of a scientific enigma easing his nerves considerably.  
  
"A plausible theory, I must admit," Victor said before trailing off, and slipping deep into thought.  
  
"Doctor Frankenstein?" Konrad asked after a moment of waiting on his colleague.  
  
"Consider it a blessing he's silenced himself," Adam remarked gruffly.  
  
"Konrad, you and Adam will continue searching for a sign of Dracula or his brood. I'll pursue this phenomenon on my own," Victor said, apparently not paying attention to the conversation.  
  
"What?" Konrad almost wailed, "You're leaving me alone with the monster?"  
  
"He knows the consequences if he betrays me," was all Victor had to say before shoving the device back into Konrad's hands and leaving the group to pursue the mysterious undead Egyptian. 


	11. Damned City Chapter 11

A scorned Verona dashed through the streets after her prey. As the maxim goes, her fury was more terrible than Hell's fires, for never had her seductions been spurned as this dirty beggar had done. It was the height of insult, but she had resolved to feed from him as retribution. Her anger was a palpable thing, causing the people of the midnight streets to stumble over each other trying to get out of her way. Many passers by could sense the malice coming from the vampire, and knew that anyone who risk hindering her would become the new target of her hatred. Her prey however, did not have that luxury. He was forced weave through the crowds as he ran, causing his head start to shrink rapidly. Verona grinned wickedly as she began closing in on the object of her spite.  
  
Karim continued to flee the dead woman, frantically praying under his breath. This woman was running far faster than she should be able to, and in his fear stricken mindset, Karim could think of no safe place to stop running. Despite the monster on his trail, Karim's greatest concern was controlling his shifting. Only in the light of the full moon could force on earth control him, but other nights he could restrain the wolf within. Every night, save those graced by the new moon, had become a constant battle for control over his own body. And if he had learned anything since acquiring the curse, it was that fear could cause him to lose control. And he would rather be slain by the corpse woman than give the demon in his soul another victim.  
  
Vagrant that he was, Karim decided to try the same tricks he used to avoid the city's police. He weaved his way towards a small crowd assembled outside a tenement and dived in, hoping he could disappear into it. But as the European woman approached, the crowd dispersed, forcing Karim to try and run alongside the crowd. This tactic proved to be a failure, and extended the chase. He then attempted to lose his hunter in the darkened maze of the bazaar. Most of the merchants had closed shop for the night, but a few less than savory peddlers were still around, as were their customers. Karim flipped over a cart at the cost of losing his distance from the woman. He resumed running for his life, but when he looked over his shoulder to see how far from the woman he was, he was greeted with the sight of her leaping gracefully as a gazelle over the obstruction. Rather than slow him down, this only pushed Karim to pick up his pace. The disturbance did bring out the few remaining people out of their dens.  
  
Verona howled with frustration as her quarry continued to elude her. Her mind was so consumed with bloodlust that she failed to notice how the humans who emerged to see where the noise had come from had now gone back into hiding at the sound of her inhuman wail. Her fury grew with every foolish attempt this man made to save his own life, and her eyes flared with unholy light when she had to bound over the fallen cart. The task was nothing to anger her, but the imputance of this human was maddening. She chased him through the streets with an unforgiving and unyielding pace, the crazed dance of predator and prey playing itself out in the urban wilderness. The chase reached its conclusion when the fool beggar made a wrong turn in a panic, leading him into an alley that proved to be a dead end. Confidant in the secrecy of the pitch black alley, Verona changed her shape to that of a demonic winged creature covered in perfectly smooth dead grey skin. She would savor every moment of sinking her fangs and claws into the man's flesh.  
  
Karim could do little more than cower and turn his head away from the demon woman. His eyes were closed for what seemed like an eternity of waiting for the sweet release of death, and he only opened them when he could feel she was next to him. Desperate and trapped, he withdrew his knife and made a quick slash with the makeshift dagger he had salvaged ages ago. He missed any vital organs, but the mark he left on the creature's face caused it to scream into the night, howling as though it had been subjected to unnatural pain. The imp staggered backwards, and for a second, the vagrant believed he had won his survival.  
  
Verona then lifted her wings, and made another charge for the beggar. She soared over the hapless man, and sank her claws into his shoulders, before flying directly up into the air, clutching Karim as a raptor clutches its prey. He shrieked in abject terror as he was lifted off the ground, causing Verona's fanged maw to grin cruelly. How she enjoyed the fear in this man's bones, the scent of his body reacting to overwhelming pain and horror. She would enjoy leaving this man to suffer constant tortures in the wine cellar for months on end before she granted him the peace of death. And perhaps even that much would be too little to atone for the high crime of maiming her exquisite form. She reluctantly turned her gaze away from her victim to concentrate on bringing him to her haven.  
  
Karim thrashed harder than ever as he felt the pain and fear forcing him further into the bestial mind he battled against every night. He knew that now shifting his form was inevitable as the passing of time. And still he resisted, wanting nothing more than to die with an untainted soul. When the last frayed strands with self control he had left snapped, his body went limp at first. His hunter glanced down at him, curious as to whether he was still alive or had died from fight. He returned her gaze, but his tired brown pools had been replaced by crazed yellow wolf eyes. The look of a predator that had just found suitable prey.  
  
The next thing Verona saw was a sudden change in her victim's form. The small, weak man sprouted fur as black as the night itself, as he exploded in size. His mein became a gloriously savage mix of man and wolf, something that evoked a more primal terror than even the vampire. Her victim's thrashing began anew when two hands tipped with vicious talons slashed across Verona's body like a biting wind. The werewolf's fangs then sank themselves into her arm, drawing her tainted blood and a section of her flesh. She wailed in pain again, her instincts spurring her to drop her prey and retreat for safety. She didn't even bother watching Karim fall from the sky and crashing down through the roof of an old tenement below. She was too badly wounded and too desperate to escape to care about the werewolf's fate, for her own had almost been decided.  
  
The wolf within Karim had taken over. All reason and desires had been replaced by the urge to survive no matter what the cost. If that meant murder, then so be it. In fact, although he would never admit it, Karim had learned that he enjoyed the sensation of blood flowing on his claws and the wild freedom the wolf man's curse offered him. It was intoxicating for a man who had lived by the rules of faith. Heaven was intangible and liberating madness was sweeter than any nectar. But for the first time since the curse sank in, the wolf man had no way to influence his survival now. All he could do was watch the demon from a perspective that became further and further away. He raged as he fell, futilely attempting to land one more blow on its attacker. He continued his thrashing until his now massive form crashed through a roof. The first impact alone would have been enough to daze him, but falling through another ceiling knocked him into blissful unconsciousness. Soon his body would revert to normal as a result, but both Karim and the wolf would not be able to see it. 


	12. Damned City Chapter 12

Not too far away, Victor Frankenstein heard the noise raised by the vampire's pursuit. He shifted his gaze to see what had caused the unnatural sounds, before casting aside his stalking of the undead mystery to see something more concrete. Reflexively, he drew a repeating revolver, a state of the art weapon for its time, which he had loaded with bullets with hollowed points filled with a synthetic and powerful acid the doctor himself had concocted. When he saw the fiendish creature rise up to the sky carrying a derelict, he recognized it as a vampire from past encounters. He had also learned enough to realize that it took an extreme situation to cause a vampire to take this hellion form. Assuming that it was somehow connected to Dracula's as of yet undiscovered purpose, Victor raised his gun and fired upon the creature. The first bullet missed the flying monster, exploding in a burst of acid. He didn't get the chance to fire another round.  
  
Shrieking one of the heka, the ancient words of power now lost to the ages, Rafik Mrad turned his mystical abilities towards causing the gun being fired upon his key to crumble. The man wielding the gun, a European with skin and hair as light as that of the fool who freed Rafik, turned to face the shouting man, apparently aware of how the mystic's words had destroyed his device. Rafik stared balefully at the man.  
  
"You will not destroy my key!" Rafik roared at the invader, the strength of his voice enough to shake less jaded men.  
  
"And I will not allow you to interfere with my work!" Victor shouted, tossing aside the ruined weapon.  
  
The stranger growled at Victor. Victor's response to the man's malice was to brandish another, more heavily modified, revolver but this he aimed at Rafik. The professor withdrew a gnarled knife, a speechless gesture that stated that he would not back down from an insect such as the European.  
  
The European fired the first shot with his strange gun. A shriek of heka tore across the wind in response as the Egyptian leapt out of the way. As Victor's bullet crashed against the streets with a small explosion, he was assaulted by a desert wind that emerged from nowhere. Despite the flesh and cloth that was being shredded by the razored gust, Victor managed to fire another shot at his foe. The exploding bullet missed its target again, but Rafik was caught in the blast. When the mystic howled with pain, the wind ceased its attack. Victor lined up a third shot to finish the undead and take the corpse for research, but Rafik shouted another heka and vomited forth a crimson serpent on to the scientist.  
  
The snake lunged for the doctor, but Victor's reflexes were too fast for the beast, and he crushed the animal in his fist before it could sink its fangs in. Using the split second opportunity he had, Rafik howled out another word of power to conjure a knife into his hand, throwing it at Victor with practiced precision. Victor hissed when he caught the phantasmal blade with his shoulder. His cold demeanor began melting the heat of battle, and his eyes were hateful as he fired another shot at the creature he had been studying. The bullet found its target, and exploded into Rafik's chest. The professor howled at the pain, but soon enough, he called upon his dark magic to send a bolt of fire from his chest into his attacker.  
  
Victor struggled to put the flames out, and Rafik smirked cruelly as he prepared to extinguish another life. He began to speak a heka, but when a heavy, dead hand wrapped itself around his throat, he couldn't finish the incantation. The creature that had grabbed him lifted the professor up by his neck, turning Rafik around to face the abomination. A dead face laced with stitches and scars was the first Rafik saw of Frankenstein's monster. For a moment, Rafik was mesmerized by the creation. Never before had he seen such a fine imitation of life, not since he made himself immortal. It was almost beautiful in its unnatural way.  
  
However, Rafik did not have much time to admire the perversion that was the monster named Adam. His knife flashed, and in a moment, he had severed the muscle of the monster's arm, causing the abomination to drop Rafik with ghastly moan. Rafik scrambled to get out of the monster's reach, but stayed just close enough to study it. Frankenstein's creation swung for the professor with his remaining arm, but in his pained state, Adam could not attack faster than Rafik could dodge. Danger was imminent for Rafik, but still he continued to avoid the monster's strikes while obsessively peering at the creature, trying to understand what strange magic brought it to life. Rafik's eyes ceased to blink in his urge to learn forbidden secrets, staring forward as though nothing else in the world mattered more.  
  
"Adam, halt!" Victor shouted after watching the brawl for a few minutes, noticing the professor's interest. The monster ceased trying to crush the mystic, but he didn't let his guard down. Rafik looked towards Victor for a moment before turning back towards the monster.  
  
"You command this abomination?" Rafik asked without looking towards Victor, his eyes still fixed on Adam.  
  
"Yes, I am the master of this freak of nature. Why, I created the infernal thing in pursuit of the secrets of life and death," Victor said, his cold demeanor slowly returning. Adam scowled at the derision he was receiving as though he were not there, but he had grown used to it.  
  
"Intriguing," Rafik said with his most scholarly tone, "It would seem then we are both dedicated seekers of such knowledge that our fellows would rather suppress out of their own fear. I believe we have much to speak of, should you allow me the chance to speak to you in a more civilized manner."  
  
Victor lowered his gun.  
  
"It would seem so indeed." 


	13. Damned City Chapter 13

Verona, wounded and panicked, screamed like a banshee as she struggled to stay afloat. Her blood was falling from the sky and on to the dusty streets of Cairo, and her howls echoed across the streets. Her flight was unstable, and remained so until she spotted her master's temporary stronghold. Shaking violently, she made a direct line for the roof of the tenement, but in her injured state, she crashed into the roof clumsily. All she could do for what seemed like an eternity in pain was groan. Her body shifted back to her humanoid shape, for it had taken too much from the werewolf's furious claws to maintain a demonic shape. Verona shifted between awareness and blessed unconsciousness rapidly as she lay in there in pain.  
  
Marishka was the first to reach her sister, although her haste slowed considerably when she noticed that it was Verona who had tumbled into the roof. She sneered as she lifted her sister's head by her hair.  
  
"Well Verona, welcome back. Tell me, what happened to you?" Marishka asked with the gleeful sadism she exhibited whenever her master wasn't present.  
  
"Werewolf," Verona croaked weakly, "Tried feeding from a werewolf,"  
  
"Oh my, aren't we the poor liar. Come now, you can tell your sister what really happened," Marishka said as she caressed the outlines of Verona's wounds.  
  
"He looked like a vagrant, but then he became a werewolf," Verona replied, coughing up stolen blood which she promptly licked up frantically, much to the amusement of Marishka.  
  
"Oh my sister, if only you could see yourself now," Marishka said with a laugh.  
  
"Marishka!" Aleera hissed when she came upon the scene, to which Marishka rolled her eyes and bounded away from Verona with a laugh. Aleera than set to work tending to her sister. She had brought a severed arm, a limb that once belonged to a guest in the wine cellar, and put it before Verona, who quickly drained the appendage of any blood left in it. And as she drank, even the savage claw wounds began closing ever so slightly. Verona refused to allow herself to look upwards towards her sister however. She knew exactly why Aleera was rushing to her aid, namely that she wanted Verona's support against Marishka while their husband was gone. Verona, having been caught up in this twisted game of garnering and denying favor once centuries ago, would not allow herself to fall into the game again.  
  
"There's more blood in the wine cellar," Aleera said in a mockery of a good willed tone. Or perhaps it sounded like a mockery only to her sisters.  
  
"Really now Aleera, whatever happened to the law of the jungle, wherein only the strong survive?" Marishka said with a low growl, folding her arms together.  
  
"And whatever happened to aiding our beloved husband in every way we could? Surely he needs Verona as much as he needs you or I, sister," Aleera shot back. Much to Verona's relief, Aleera's attention had fully shifted to Marishka. Her body seethed and twitched as she willed the wounds closed as her thirst for blood grew.  
  
"If she would let the human herd wound her so and concoct a tale about a werewolf to cover up her weakness, our father would be better off without her," Marishka said, narrowing her eyes.  
  
"I believe that is the Count's decision to make and not yours!" Aleera almost shouted. And so began another shouting match between Aleera and Marishka, with Verona moaning as her undead flesh knitted itself back together. The noise eventually grew so great that Vladislaus Dracula had to look up from his work towards the roof. His work at that moment consisted of a handful of files and notices stolen from the Cairo police department's storage. He sighed heavily when he overheard his brides arguing between themselves, yet again. He tried to continue perusing the files while ignoring the noise, desperate as ever to find out if there was a link between the murdered archeologist and the strange power that had awakened in this land. If he could not find this infernal creature, Dracula was convinced that his fate, centuries in the making, would be ultimate defeat and destruction. And at the hands of an Arab fiend no less.  
  
Renfield walked in, carrying his master's sword, an old broadsword that had tasted the blood of many a Turk. Although every duty was considered an honor in Renfield's mind, being allowed to oil and polish the blade was particularly auspicious honor. Dracula had initially forbid his servant from even touching the weapon, but as time passed and Renfield worked as hard as he could, his master rewarded him with the privilege of maintaining his weapon. Renfield handed his master the sword timidly, and had it not been sheathed, it would have shined in the candlelight of Dracula's makeshift office. Dracula took the blade casually, leaning it against his seat. Renfield beamed happily.  
  
"Renfield, before you attend to the wine cellar, I'd like to speak to you for a moment. Renfield seemed ecstatic at the chance to speak with Dracula.  
  
"Tell me Renfield," Dracula continued, "do you think I made a mistake trusting that seer and coming to this accursed wasteland?"  
  
"No, certainly not," Renfield said nervously, "It's well known that the ancient Egyptians possessed capabilities unlike those we have today. Surely there could be something here that, if not threatens you, could benefit you."  
  
"Yes, indeed," the vampire said with a sigh, part of him starting to wish he had left more of Renfield's spirit intact. He casually motioned for the fawning servant to leave his presence, before steeling his resolve, and headed for the roof where he was surely needed.  
  
When he arrived, the sight he beheld was that of Marishka and Aleera arguing yet again, causing Dracula to wish he had left a bit of humanity in his brides. They reminded him of children in their own way. The Count inwardly began worrying that perchance he lacked the ability to create a servant he didn't have to worry about.  
  
"Lovelies," he said sternly as he entered the roof, donning his black overcoat as he stepped towards the two vampires. As always, they ceased their clash and began doting over him as they always had. Verona, from her place in the shadows, knew the performance her sisters were putting on for their father.  
  
"Where's Verona?" Dracula asked with a frown. The two vampires draping themselves over him suddenly went silent. When he felt a hand grabbing his ankle, he looked down to see his third bride. He immediately kneeled down to look over Verona.  
  
"Verona, who did this to you?" Dracula asked almost frantically.  
  
"A werewolf! I thought he was a vagrant, but he turned into a monster and attacked me!" Verona blubbered and wailed, and much like her sisters' argument, it struck Dracula as a child's reaction. Inwardly he chided himself for expecting women be as warriors, but as always, he had to cast these thoughts aside, and turn Verona's head upward, which she allowed him to do without thinking. He withdrew a letter opener he had absently carried up to the roof, and sliced his wrist open. His blood seeped into her mouth slowly, and that seemed to calm the panicked vampire down considerably. She sighed as though she were dreaming, as Dracula stood up to face his other two brides, his expression cross and nearly ready to boil over into fury.  
  
"Why did you not tell me she had been attacked by a werewolf?" he growled at them. He looked between them, waiting for the two shaking vampires to respond.  
  
"We," Marishka began fearfully, "a-assumed she was l-lying."  
  
Dracula snarled and smacked both of them with one strike.  
  
"What in the hell were you thinking? Her wounds are clearly unnatural! And if there's anything unusual in this land, you were directly told to let me know as soon as possible!" Dracula roared. He was seething with anger as his brides stumbled backwards. He willed his barbed demonic wings to sprout from his back before speaking again.  
  
"You two will carry your sister to the wine cellar, and you will not emerge until her wounds have closed. I will tolerate no more squabbling between the three of you!" Dracula said as sternly as ever. Marishka and Aleera quickly lifted the wounded Verona and scrambled into the wine cellar, their eyes still widened from fright.  
  
Once they were gone, Dracula sighed heavily. This lycanpthropic vagrant certainly couldn't be the newly awakened monster he had so feared. Werewolves simply didn't work like that; they were mortal, and none could hope to stay as strong as a vampire as the decades passed by. Still, their raw savagery and power made them dangerous opponents, but never for the long term struggle Dracula was anticipating with this strange new power. However, he decided that it would still be a wise choice to look into this matter himself. He retracted his wings and bounded from rooftop to close built rooftop with the silence of a thief in the night. Following the scent of Verona's blood, he began searching the area. By the time Dracula reached the scene of clash between Verona and this unknown werewolf, Dracula noticed a surge in traffic on formerly silent street. Although it was only a few people, the vampire could tell that the sun would be rising soon, sending him scrambling back to his lair. 


	14. Damned City Chapter 14

Professor Mrad took a seat behind his desk, and motioned for his guest to take a seat facing him. Rafik left his ancient dagger on his desk drawer, although it was never too far from hand, as his guest's warnings about the glorious abomination kept him from abandoning such a potent talisman so soon. Doctor Frankenstein returned the professor's gaze, calm and cold as ever.  
  
"Well Mister Mrad," Victor began, "you're the one who's so interested in my creation, why don't you start by disclosing who you are."  
  
"As I said, my name is Rafik Mrad, professor of Egyptology. I was born in the south of Egypt, attended the university in Beirut, and have been working with the museum for the past few months."  
  
"And who are you really? You honestly can't expect me to believe you're a simple academic after our little misunderstanding, now could you?"  
  
"Certainly not. Although I must warn you that if anyone learns of my nature, I will assume you have betrayed my confidence and react accordingly," Rafik said with as much cold pragmatism as Victor.  
  
"Of course. I have enough to deal with while handling Adam, I hardly need more enemies."  
  
"Well, then that was far easier than I had expected. I must say that I'm glad to see that some Europeans understand the value of keeping secrets."  
  
"Come now, you surely know that all true innovators must know how to keep their work from the public eye."  
  
"I suppose you're right. Yes, but back to my own disclosures, which I'm expecting you to reciprocate in turn," Rafik, after which Victor nodded solemnly, before the professor continued, "My name, back when I was alive in the great land of Khem now called Egypt, was Jarha. Many a fool called me Jarha the Mad, for I struggled to understand the world in ways even the priesthood would not."  
  
"You're a vampire I assume?" Victor asked, his curiosity stirred.  
  
"Oh my, no. But I performed many experiments on vampires in my search for unending life."  
  
"You too sought immortality then? I must say, we have much in common than I originally surmised."  
  
"Indeed, I found a way to turn the finite life span into eternity itself. Ah, how those fools struggled to execute me. One executioner fainted when he saw my severed head mocking his efforts," Rafik said as though fondly remembering times gone past.  
  
"Immortality and invulnerability before the age of modern science? I must say Mr. Mrad, I'm impressed."  
  
"Ah, well. In it's time, it was a task that was hardly unheard of. What truly sealed my fate was how I had strayed into the ruins of a civilization far older than even Khem's. It was said to be an accursed place, inhabited only by ghosts and demons. The priesthood claimed the knowledge there was for no man to learn, but I defied their edict. However, this defiance was deemed worthy of what was to be eternal imprisonment."  
  
"And what did you dredge up from these dreadful ruins that was worth dying for?"  
  
"The potential for knowledge. Oh, I saw a few engravings and indecipherable text, but that was surely nothing compared to the wealth of secrets and lore that were just waiting to be unearthed."  
  
"That sounds tantalizing to my curiosity as a man of science, I must confess."  
  
"I've been dreaming about returning to those ruins for centuries upon centuries. And as the years wore on, I began to fear I would never be free of that tomb. But, a certain over zealous explorer blundered into my prison, and I was awakened."  
  
"How fortunate for you," Victor said cautiously.  
  
"It was a stroke of fate I hadn't anticipated. Then again, I have had many surprises since emerging, the most shocking of which was seeing how far what's now called science separated from what's now called mysticism."  
  
"You mean to claim that once those disciplines were bound closer together? As though science and superstition used to be one in the same?" Victor asked, his tone demanding and filled with indignation.  
  
"Calm yourself Doctor Frankenstein," Rafik said diplomatically, "Much of your modern science has roots in the occult. Why, alchemy birthed to chemistry and astrology shifted into astronomy. And you yourself know of vampires, I hardly find it impossible to believe you have discounted the supernatural entirely."  
  
"Point well taken," Victor said, rapidly calming down in the face of his host's reasoned arguments.  
  
"Naturally it took the sacrifice of life to give me this unending life, and I had to kill the entirety of my followers. But I'm sure you're well aware with such principles, as your own creation seems to be alive in way unlike any nature creates."  
  
"Actually, my methods aren't quite so dependent on life. Indeed, one might say that Adam is a flesh and blood machine."  
  
"A machine? Please, elaborate, as I am unfamiliar with these blasted devices of modern times."  
  
"It's simple really. Adam is composed of dead body parts, his dead brain revived by a massive amount of inert chemical treatments and no small amount of captured lightning. Naturally the exact procedure is far more complicated when it comes down to the necessary details, and frankly I have yet to perfect it."  
  
"A novel approach to an ancient problem, I must admit."  
  
"It is the power of science made manifest. But as I said, the process is far from honed and perfected. There are still many shortcomings in my work."  
  
"Shortcomings such as what? Your creation seemed to be functioning well enough in my eyes."  
  
"You're too kind, but you have no idea what that fiend's put me through. He rebelled almost from the moment I gave him life, and soon enough he escaped from me. Then," Victor said bitterly, "he began a campaign of assassination against my family. I hunted him down, seeking only to destroy him for his crimes against my blood. But again he eluded me, until he disappeared to the northernmost reaches of the world."  
  
"And why do you now travel with him after what he did to you?"  
  
"His travels deactivated him somewhere along the line, and his body was picked up by a whaling ship. It was sold as part of a sideshow until it came to my attention by chance. I promptly purchased the abomination, believing I had perfected the reanimation techniques, and that Adam could turn his murderous nature to my advantage. However, I had not. Now I settle for keeping the beast under my control."  
  
"How do you keep something so powerful at bay I wonder?"  
  
"Oh it's rather simple really, this device," Victor said, motioning to his gauntlet, "allows me to send an electrical charge of varying strength in through a specialized receiver in Adam's skull. Should he step out of line, I can over load his system with electricity. If I'm feeling merciful, he suffers terrible pain. If I'm not, his existence is over in an instant."  
  
"Ah, you are as clever as I had been anticipating. Tell me, how did your fellows react to the research that surely preceded this wondrous technique of yours?"  
  
"Poorly. They said I was trying to do the impossible, violating the will of God."  
  
"You mean the populace continues to hold the advancement of knowledge in dread because of an ignorance enforced by the priesthood."  
  
"Aye, they continue to do so, and never ceased. It's as if they've never understood that all things require sacrifices on some level, if not trading life for life."  
  
"And I had such high hopes when I awakened. I had been bound for all time because I struggled so long and hard to further the arcane arts."  
  
"It would seem then that we have much in common, particularly that we've been forced to suffer for our respective visions."  
  
"My thoughts exactly. Perchance an exchange of ideas and information is in order then?"  
  
"I'd certainly hope so. We could definitely aid each other in our individual endeavors, and perhaps even find common cause," Victor said.  
  
"Yes, I suppose we could help each other. Although I'm curious as to what particular cause we share, save a shared passion for unearthing knowledge."  
  
"Tell me Professor Mrad, did you slay a European who wandered into your tomb?"  
  
"Quite so," Rafik replied with a polite nod.  
  
"And did you remove his heart afterwards?"  
  
"Again, yes," Rafik said, hints of polite annoyance seeping into his tone, "Where are you going with this line of conversation Doctor Frankenstein?"  
  
"Have you ever heard of Count Dracula? Because I believe he's come to Cairo searching for you," Victor replied gravely.  
  
"I know nothing of this Drah-cue-la, but may I assume that his intentions for me involve more ill than good?"  
  
Victor only nodded. 


	15. Damned City Chapter 15

After being knocked into unconsciousness, Karim lingered in the bliss of being totally unaware of the world around him. The wolf was temporarily subdued, and the man slept until well after noon. During that time, all Karim could dream about was the horrible thing he had fought with. The scent of her foul blood, the cutting sound of her screams, the sensation of sinking his claws into her tainted flesh, all danced in Karim's fevered dreams. And as he slept, he grinned as he relived the werewolf's madness. Had he been conscious, he would have supressed his glee. But deep down in his heart, Karim had grown to thrist for the pure freedom the werewolf's curse granted him when he lost control, and in the dream realm of his unconscious mind, that thrist was all that mattered.  
  
His eyes remained closed for the first few minutes he spent on the border between consciousness and unconsciousness. Sight was not the first sense to return; a dry tongue trapped amid a coating of putrid demon blood came first. The next sense to return was hearing, but all he heard was silence. Memories came back to him then, blurred images of falling down and an ache in his body. The recurring ache was what Karim's battered body needed to regain a sense of touch. He could tell that his body was laid out on something soft, perhaps a bed. It took him a few minutes, but finally he realized that he had fallen through a roof, and certainly hadn't lost consciousness here.  
  
Karim's eyes shot open at that realization. He began to shake nervously as awareness rapidly returned to him. He was in a small, cramped room, with nothing but a window shining painful sunlight upon him. Iron bars lined the windowsile, and the only door in the room seemed unlocked. Karim took a quick stock of his own state; his clothes, already shredded, were in much the same ragged state they were in before he transformed into a werewolf, save for a few new holes where the demon's claws punctured him. He was covered in blood again, both his own and that of the flying monster. And his body seemed to have healed the majority of the wounds he had suffered.  
  
"Where in the hell am I?" Karim asked himself, "Last thing I remember was the demon pulling me up and... no, no, that wasn't all of it. I could have fallen, but then, why would I be in here? Damn it Karim, what did you get yourself mired into this time?"  
  
Nominally thankful for his curse and the remarkable healing and durability it offered for the first time, Karim staggered to his feet. He took a few steps in the confined space in front of his bed, shakey legs not working particularly well at the moment. He coughed weakly, and reached for the door. Much to his suprise, it opened for him, spurring him to explore this building he had found himself in.  
  
The corridors were remarkably sparse, and every door that lined them seemed to be locked. As he wandered, Karim noticed that he was vaguely unnerved by his sudden lack of the werewolf's senses. He groaned softly, wondering just how much fighting the wolf within really mattered. After meandering through the halls for no more than ten minutes, Karim came across a pile of rubble, above which was a ray of sunlight shining in from a hole in the ceiling with another hole in the roof above that hole.  
  
"Well," Karim muttered to himself as he gazed upwards, "at least I haven't been moved too far away from where I landed. That's a good sign, I suppose."  
  
The vagrant resumed trudging through the halls after a while. Now he was hankering for some alcohol. He continued his wanderings, and as his search of the building went on, he found himself growing frustrated with the sheer number of locked doors that impeded his progress and toyed with his curiosity.  
  
"The wolf," Karim said to himself, one of his monologues beginning "would surely just tear the door off and see what's inside, and to hell with the consquences. Ah, but that was what makes werewolves so dangerous after all; uncontrolled save by instinct and rash enough to do the first thing that emerges in their minds. A force of nature really, and nature, well, nature scares humans. The werewolf is but the purest expression of nature's fury and danger. But who in the world decided that I would be such an expression?"  
  
Karim sighed heavily as he concluded his own diatribe. He had spent so many years among teachers and tutors, spent so many years learning to use those words and understand the philosphical underpinnings of his thoughts. And all he had amounted to was being another vagrant in the streets of Cairo? The thought of it was depressing in and of itself. While mired in this intertwined state of self pity and self loathing spurred by his cursed state, Karim came across a stair case, and cast all his worries aside as he scrambled down it, praying the ground floor below would be more inviting.  
  
After bounding off the last stair, Karim arrived in what appeared to be a household, the house kichen to be specific. Coptic icons lined the walls of the kitchen, all kept safely away from the stove. One thing that struck Karim as strange was that there was only one stove, even though the three story building had clearly been meant to house more people than just the small family one stove could sustain. Still, he was elated to have found the kitchen, and set to work searching the pantries and storages for the ever elusive alcohol he had sought, quickly and frantically.  
  
"Wine, wine, where's the damn wine?" he hissed as he searched, each moment without his intoxicating nectars making him all the crankier.  
  
"I would advise that you do not curse in this household," a voice from behind Karim said. It was a woman's voice, one that implied a quiet sort of authority. Karim spun around to see that while he was busy searching for his intoxicants, a middle aged woman, with an average frame, thinning black hair slowly turning grey, and eyes harder than any Karim had seen before, had taken a seat at the table set out in the kitchen. In his state of mind, Karim could not say if he had allowed her to sneak up on him, or if he was simply too desperate for alcohol to notice that she had been there. She wore what would be expected of any Egyptian woman, but there was something about her expression that seemed tired but determined. Karim's stuttered a few words in response, but none came out as a coherent sentence. He had no idea what he had just gotten into.  
  
"I assume your silence is your way of agreeing with me. Now be careful with your words," the woman continued as calmly and sternly as ever, "for I have two young sons living with me, and I'll not tolerate them learning any sinful words. We took you in out of pity when you fell into our home, but you will abide by our ways. Is that understood?"  
  
Karim only nodded weakly to her. He was too worn out by being startled to put up any sort of resistance to her stern lecture.  
  
"Good to know. Now then, I don't suppose you can tell me anything about this wolf creature my neighbors told me about earlier?" she said calmly.  
  
"Wolf creature?" Karim asked nervously. Try as he might, he could not retain his calm now that it seemed apparent that his nocturnal shapeshifting had been noticed.  
  
"My neighbors said that they saw two demons battling in the sky last night. They claimed that one of those fiends, the beast with the head of a wolf, fell from the sky and crashed into my home. I doubt they were lying, for they seemed so concerned about my boys that they would remove them from their beds before a demon could reach them."  
  
"I've heard rumors of creatures like that, but surely an wise woman such as yourself can't believe that those things are real in this day and age," Karim said timidly. Resorting to flattery normally worked to dissaude most of the inquiries that might lead to Karim unwittingly revealing his true nature.  
  
"Coincidentally," the woman began sarcastically, "when I returned to my home, I found you laying unconscious amid a pile of debris that had once been part of my roof and floor. Now tell me in your honeyed tongue what you make of that."  
  
"I was curious when I heard the shouting, and I traveled over the roof tops to see what had happened, but I didn't see the hole as I was running. I simply slipped and fell down through the hole the falling demon made in your home. Fortunately for me the wolf creature was long gone by the time I arrived, but I still tumbled down and was knocked unconscious," Karim said, inwardly impressed by his own lie.  
  
"Then I must confess that I'm impressed," the woman said with a knowing smirk, "for my home stands next to no buildings save those across the street from me. That was quite a leap you made. Impossible for an ordinary man to make, no?"  
  
"Wha, who, what do you want with me?" Karim said as his eyes widened.  
  
"I believe I'll be fetching you some wine now. You're going to need it," she replied, getting up and striding out of the kitchen, leaving Karim alone to wonder as to what twisted turn his fate had taken.  
  
Document: Excerpt from a Cairo newspaper  
  
Unseen Battle Rages in Streets  
  
Last evening, numerous residents on a Cairo neighborhood frantically reported a raging battle in the streets to the police. By the time the police arrived on the scene, the fighting had ended. Blood had been spilled in many places across the streets, and other signs of violence were found by police. Residents reported hearing animals, screaming, and explosions over the course of the incident, and many reported seeing the battle as well. However, Colonial police say that no witness has yet provided them with useful information about the culprits behind the violence. 


	16. Damned City Chapter 16

The afternoon sun was high in the sky when Victor returned to the Cairo Museum, Konrad and Adam following behind him. Contrary to Victor's usual cold calm, Konrad was as nervous as ever, paranoid eyes constantly glancing at the monster. For his part, Adam seemed to be annoyed, but little else escaped his scarred mask of a face. Victor lead his group through the corridors of the museum, paying no heed to either his assistant's fear or his creation's irritation as he approached the office marked fifteen.  
  
"Victor, do perchance remember that on the eve of Adam's creation that I expressed an intuitive misgiving about the entire project?" Konrad asked.  
  
"Yes. Maybe I should have listened to you, but it's too late to alter the course of those events now. Why do you bring this up now?" Victor asked.  
  
"I'm having those same misgivings about the professor Mrad. Can't we just return to Germany, before we end up with another problem on our hands?"  
  
"Really, Konrad," Victor said mockingly, "I had figured you were above such absurd notions. I see I was wrong."  
  
"You've been wrong about a lot lately, Victor," Konrad replied, showing some uncharacteristic spine, "First you were wrong about creating that... thing, then you were wrong about Dracula being here, and now you're wrong about this Professor Mrad who scares the hell out of me! We can't go on like this Victor!"  
  
"Tell me Konrad," Victor said, narrowing his eyes as he stopped and turned towards Doctor Dippel, "Would you really wish to continue with your little diatribe, or would you rather the university find out precisely what you really requisitioned those cadavers for? The choice is all your Konrad. That thing is as much yours as mine, remember that!"  
  
Konrad stammered a bit as his eyes widened with fear at Victor's cold outburst. Doctor Frankenstein simply grinned like a shark as the sudden pliability of his companion. Adam just sneered.  
  
"Really now," he said in his embittered, rumbling voice, "are you two so called men of science done with your urination contest? I tire of the both of your voices."  
  
"Tell me Adam, what do you plan to do about it? Scowl, grumble, or perhaps even the dreaded growl," Victor replied, his cold tone laced with sarcasm. Adam fumed, but was impotent against his creator and now master. Victor shot his monster a harsh glance, before opening the Professor Mrad's door, motioning for Konrad and Adam to remain outside; Konrad because his constant whimpering would distract Victor, and Adam because the artificial construct would distract Professor Mrad. Victor needed neither.  
  
Rafik Mrad, once known as Jarha the Mad in an age long past, looked up from his paperwork as Victor Frankenstein entered his office. He nodded politely to the German doctor, and motioned for him to sit. Victor sat down and leaned back, his gaze not warming up a bit. Rafik set his papers aside to face his guest.  
  
"Ah, Doctor Frankenstein, good of you to return."  
  
"It's likewise good to see you Professor Mrad, but I suppose we should get down to business immediately. Last night, we agreed to an partnership to search for the ruins you spoke of, and equal use of any and all discoveries made within. You also mentioned that in opening these ruins, my creation might play a role. I paid this visit so that you might elaborate on your plans."  
  
"Yes, I suppose time is of the essence at this point. Simply put, the ruins were locked away by the cult of Anubis, the opener of the ways. Given their patron's dominion, it was only natural that they be the ones to lock the ways to the ruins for all time. Only one touched by Anubis may enter."  
  
"And you have found a way around this obstacle, I presume? Otherwise you would not have claimed that my creation could aid you."  
  
"Quite so. I've found a man, a vagrant, who's line has been touched by Anubis. Your masterpiece," Rafik said with a twisted sort of awe, "is perhaps the only way that we'll be able to use this vagrant to open the ruins."  
  
"Please, explain further how my daemon will be needed to capture a simple vagrant? If anything, one of your abilities should find it easy to abduct a beggar in such a populous city."  
  
"Ah, but this vagrant, our key to the ruins, he bears a cursed mark of Anubis. On the nights when even a sliver of the moon is visible, he ceases to be man. He becomes an incarnation of Anubis himself, as I'm aware you saw before we had our misunderstanding."  
  
"You don't mean that we'll need to capture a... oh I hate using this term, do you really mean that we'll have to capture a werewolf to access these ruins," Victor said, his voice filled with as much worry as disdain.  
  
"Werewolf, yes, that's what I believe our vagrant is called Europe. I believe that a creature such as your's will stand a chance of taking the key," Rafik said, his tone almost eager in a way.  
  
"The beast has survived the Artic Circle, so I suppose you might be right. How are you planning to restrain this vagrant after we've taken him?" Victor asked skeptically.  
  
"A short while ago I commissioned for a set of silver shackles to be forged for this situation specifically. I've been watching this vagrant for a while now," Rafik said with a smug expression.  
  
"Restraints that subdue the wearer, quite clever of you, Professor Mrad. All right, I'll invest my time and creations into this effort of yours. When shall we take the vagrant werewolf?"  
  
"Tomorrow morning, when the creature is forced to remain human and won't be more than a vagrant as long as the sun's in the sky. Is this agreeable, doctor?"  
  
"Indeed it is, professor," Victor replied, his tone as cold as ever. And inside, down the depths of Jarha the Mad's tainted soul, a long dead monster smiled darkly. Soon enough, he would return to the ruins. The European, he had made a monster, the very existence of which spit in the face of the gods, but even that could not prepare him. The monster, even such a hollow creature was not ready. But Jarha, Jarha had been preparing for over two thousand years. And he was through waiting. 


	17. Damned City Chapter 17

Karim sat at the woman's table, nervously eyeing the bottle of wine he had been told not to touch again. His nerves were slowly calming down, all the while the woman who called herself Nayla continued to look over him with a stern eye, as though she were waiting for something of dire importance. Her gaze had a strange quality, almost as if he could tell this woman could her courage even if Satan himself tried to face her down.

"Well," Karim said uncertainly, "why do you want to know so much about this wolf creature that can't exist?"

"I have my reasons," Nayla said, "But I fail to see why I should divulge them to someone who continues to lie to me. You can not deceive me in this regard. And it's remarkably foolish to question that something much larger than you fell through my roof to make the hole in the ceiling I found you under."

"I, well, it's rather complicated," Karim stammered in his ever increasingly unsteady tone.

"Really now? Then please, continue. Or should I just come out and say that you're a werewolf? Would that make this conversation progress any faster?" Nayla asked confidently.

"Wha, what?" Karim said with a gaping jaw. He couldn't believe it, no matter how many warning signs he had noticed. That anyone would know he was a monster, when he had told no one of his condition, was a shock to him.

"You have nothing to fear from me just yet. Right now, all I want is to know precisely what happened last night. Once I know that much, you're free to finish the bottle of wine if you wish."

"I was chased out of a coffee house by a European woman... a corpse, that's all I could see of it," Karim said with a defeated tone and a shudder, "When I was cornered in an alley, the corpse woman, she became a demon. I, well, I lost control of my, ah, wolfen side out of fear. I changed into a werewolf as I was being lifted into the air by the demon. After the flying fiend dropped me, I passed out. But, but why do you want to know that?"

"As I said, I have my reasons," Nayla said, her expression softening from stern to contemplative. Inwardly, she began wondering what her comrades within the House of the Blessed Hunters, known as the Knights of the Holy Order in Europe, would have to say about this creature sitting before her. She suspected that it was her duty to grant the monster a merciful death. But despite her demeanor, she couldn't find it in herself to place a silver bullet, fired from the gun she had been carrying since she took the beggar into her home, in this pitiful creature's body. She opted to give the creature time for a last drink and confession before granting the monster the release of death.

Karim, oblivious to the hunter's nature and intentions, grabbed the bottle and began to drink from it. A heavy sigh escaped his lips after every drink, the weight of his own self pity only growing heavier with the alcohol rushing into his system. Nayla leaned back into her chair, figuring that the vagrant would be draining the entire bottle, and that she could wait. Karim was so caught up in his drinking that he overlooked his host entirely.

A chance glance out of the kitchen's window caught Karim's attention. In an alcohol induced haze, it took him a moment to figure out why the sight of the darkening streets was cause for alarm. Succumbing to panic, he left the bottle on the table, and scrambled to leave the house he had fallen into before dusk fell. This surprised Nayla, and she dashed out after him.

"I must leave, now!" Karim shouted as he frantically searched for the door. Had he bothered to turn around, he may have noticed that Nayla was quietly drawing a revolver. Fortunately for the vagrant he managed to find the door before the hunter's silver rounds pierced his flesh. Nayla cursed as she ran to the door, hoping to catch the beast before it disappeared, but by then, Karim had disappeared into the crowd.

Karim ran into the first alleyway he came across, weaving through the crowds as casually as possible. He had to get as far away from the city as he possibly could, lest he risk death, his or another bystander's. Had he not succumbed to the wolf's spirit last night, he might have remained in the city, but after being attacked by a demon and losing control, he was in no state to take foolish chances as he had been. As the urban maze grew ever less cramped, Karim raised his eyes to see the outline of the Giza pyramids, and opting to use the seemingly timeless monuments as a landmark for returning to the city from the desert. Assuming he chose to return to human civilization.

Nayla turned back into her house and wandered over to a basket full of perpetually dirty clothes, lifting it up. She shouted once to her children to behave themselves while she was out, before covering herself with a veil and leaving her home. Hauling the basket of laundry, she made a hurried journey down the streets. To the casual observer, she was just another woman running an errand. The fact that she was armed to the teeth with weapons strapped beneath her coverings and stored in the basket of dirty clothes was impossible to see by other pedestrians. Her path took her to the back door of a mosque not far from her home, the cover for Cario's House of the Blessed Hunter. She approached the iman's quarters, and rapped on his door.

"The hunt is on," was all she had to say to get the door opened.


	18. Damned City Chapter 18

The dark streets of Cairo were teeming with life, even after dusk. The only interruption in the usual stream of derelicts, harlots, and outsiders was the presence of the Son of the Dragon. The count passed through the streets, his stride swift and purposeful and his contempt for the people on the streets extending into his aura of malice. As desert winds blew sand and soot across the shadowed streets, the immortal noble parted crowds as he approached, leaving droves of frightened pedestrians in his wake. Brash as he had been in a breathing life he only barely remembered, Dracula barged into an tenement, a sign outside of which proclaimed the building to be a boarding house.  
  
Striding down the unpainted corridors, his pace picked up as he first heard signs of life. The soft sound of shuffling feet lead Dracula to office of the building's owner. He knocked on the door as forcefully as he could without breaking it, and waited for a response. Despite the land lord's haste, he still open his door to an irritated Dracula. The land lord stared at the vampire with a confused expression. A European, let alone one was obviously powerful and wealthy as Dracula, was a rare sight in a run down tenement. A low growl escaped Dracula's lips before he grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him off the ground without any difficulty.  
  
"Tell me, sir," the vampire began with a contemptuous taint in his calm voice, "have you ever rented a room to one Rafik Mrad? Think carefully about your answer, for I have no patience for deception."  
  
"Yes, I have," the landlord said fearfully, "Room twenty, I swear to God that's where he has been staying!"  
  
"Well then, that wasn't so hard, was it? Now all you have to do is give me a key to that apartment," Dracula said, his tone as harsh as ever.  
  
"In the top drawer of my desk. The left side of it!" the man almost pleaded as he raised a shaking hand towards his worn desk. The weight of the count's displeasure had begun to affect his mind.  
  
With the grace of true nobility, Dracula tossed the land lord aside, swooped down upon the desk, and grabbed a ring of keys from the top drawer. As he left the land lord to cower in fear, Dracula gave a quick bow on his way out, as was his habit as a warrior of noble birth. He then stalked up the stairs, towards the room rented by a man known as Rafik Mrad. In the course of his research, the count had learned that a portion of the expedition funding of Dr. Richard Harris, the Englishman murdered mysteriously in a tomb he was excavating, was directed towards renting a room in this house. Further investigation, and no small amount of intimidation, on Dracula's part had yielded the name of a Professor working for the Cairo museum. And the count, desperate as ever to preserve his existence and power, had followed up on this anomaly.  
  
The vampire's brash manner shifted drastically as he approached the door of Professor Mrad. He slide the key into the lock, and turned it slowly, before cautiously entering the apartment. The first thing he noticed was that an unusual amount of wooden bookshelves and what appeared to be large crate were the only furnishings in sight. The entire room was painted in red, although the walls were speckled rather than solidly colored. Dracula's unnatural senses picked up the scent of dust and another sensation that resembled the smell of dead, dried flesh. He scowled as he considered his eerily silent surroundings.  
  
"This nothing more than a hovel," Dracula said under his breath to himself. He walked towards the wall and the strange painting on it, moving stealthily out of reflex. The count's brow furrowed as he began to recognize what he had thought was a laughable attempt at painting for what it was. Hieroglyphs, similar to those the ancient Egyptians used, seemed to be what was covering the walls, save that they seemed to be scrawled hastily and crudely, as though by a mad man. Dracula sniffed the words he could not read, recognizing them as being written in the sweet nectar of blood. He shook his head as his undying thirst was stirred by the scent of spilled blood, forcing himself to continue his search.  
  
The bookshelves it seemed were lined with texts relating to the history of Egypt and surrounding countries, in addition to more esoteric tomes about the occult. Much to Dracula's surprise, the books seemed to have come from across the world. Apparently such things were of special interest to Professor Mrad, clearly confirming the vampire's suspicions that something was amiss.  
  
Having investigated everything else, Dracula made his way over towards the crate, noting that it seemed just large enough to contain a human sized body. The crate's lid had been left on it, and while Dracula considered finding a crowbar, he opted to snarl and tear the lid off with his bare hands. Chuckling as he performed the act, he contemplated how it never failed to amaze him how much power his death granted him. As his fingers punctured and pulled the wooden lid off the crate, a foul stench began leaking out. Dracula continued to force the crate open, hardly breaking a sweat and paying no heed to the stench.  
  
When he had finally forced the lid off, Dracula frowned when all that greeted his efforts was the skull of a jackal, the sun bleached bones covered in the same twisted symbols as the walls.  
  
"Surely that can't be what Mister Mrad wanted to," Dracula began, speaking to himself, before a thick black mist started billowing out of the eyes of the skull.  
  
The count started heading backwards on instinct, but he couldn't move fast enough. The mist began to surround him, and before he could react, the vampire was completely enshrouded in an ever expanding pool of inky darkness. He stumbled towards the door blindly, a fight or flight mentality overtaking him. Then he did something he hadn't done in centuries; he found himself gasping for air. The mist was strangling himself, forcing itself into through his mouth and nose, smothering even his undead and unbreathing body. Every step became a struggle, as the entropic fog encased the dead man, draining his unnatural life force. The strength the count had used to pry open the crate abandoned him, leaving him as weak as a human and coughing violently. As his drained arms finally found the apartment's door, Dracula had to fight to turn the knob.  
  
Dragging himself out of the apartment, the vampire was freed after what had seemed like an eternity of being drained. As the tainted haze cleared, Dracula noticed that something about his static, unliving flesh. He looked down at his hands, eyes widening as he realized that his hands had withered, becoming those of an old human about to die. Peering down at his body, he found that his entire body had been aged by the black mists, corrupting his once beautiful form into that of a gnarled old man, with white hair and a network of wrinkles. The count was not pleased as he staggered away from the boarding house, but inside, he felt a twisted sort of satisfaction. Now he was certain that something had awakened in this wasteland that presented a threat to him, for there was no force on earth that had ever done such harm to him. 


	19. Damned City Chapter 19

Karim couldn't help but shiver as the cold desert air descended upon him. A bloated half moon shined down on the dark sands, the pale silver light illuminating Karim's way. The city of Cairo was still quite visible to Karim, for he hadn't strayed too far from the urban center. At most, he was two or three hundred feet away from the outskirts of Cairo, but this still wasn't enough for him. The thought of unleashing the savagery within on an innocent compelled Karim to wander ever further from the city, despite everything he knew about the dangers of the desert. This course of action was but another pendulum swing between his natural desperation for survival and a very conscious death wish he had gained since the onset of the curse. The vagrant continued to follow the ancient road that lead out of Cairo, his shivers becoming a quaking motion.

By the time Karim regained his urge to survive, he could only barely see the Giza plateau in the moon's light. He stopped abruptly, weighing his options. His first option was to continue heading away from civilization, and quite possibly to his death, which he had hoped would spare Cairo from the fury of the werewolf. His second option was to turn around and return to Cairo before the desert killed him, and entrust his survival with his ability to restrain the wolf inside. Karim shook his head and mumbled to himself, taking another slurp of the wine he had more or less stolen from Nayla's home. The numbing effect mimicked a warming from the inside of his body, and for this Karim was thankful. His full knowledge of how intoxication made it more likely for him to lose control was the last thing on his mind. He needed the wine too badly to care.

The only sound Karim could hear was the brutal gusts of Sahara wind, and the only thing he could feel was the biting cold and the vague sensation of flying sand against his skin. A chorus of barking broke the relative calm of the desert road, causing Karim to jerk his sight upwards. The sight that greeted him was that of a pair of mangy, apparently ill fed tracking dogs charging towards him. A storm of hooves followed behind the hounds, a pack of seven horse mounted riders bearing down on the werewolf. Karim staggered backwards reflexively, squinting in the dim moonlight to see the riders better. Down to the last, they brandished bolt action rifles and repeating revolvers, all of which quickly became fixated on Karim. Before he could turn around to run, Karim recognized the face of the widow who seemed to be leading the charge.

Riding in front of the rest of the hunters, Nayla raised a revolver loaded with silver rounds at Karim. Behind her were six of the few remaining warriors of the House of the Blessed Hunters. They were all strong, proud men, none of whom were particularly happy to be following the orders of a woman. But they had their orders, and every one of them was too proud to flee from a monster a tired old woman, was willing to charge headfirst at. This was precisely the effect their superiors had intended by recruiting a woman, and thus far it had been a wise decision.

"Surround it! In God's name!" the widow shouted to the other hunters, firing with an unsteady hand at Karim. The bullet missed its intended target, but the beat skipped in his heart brought Karim to the realization of not only the riders' intentions, but also of the deadly silvered arms they carried. He took off running as fast as he could, paying minimal attention to containing the wolf within as he began to fear for his life. A trio of hunters pushed their horses to speed up and position themselves to get in Karim's path and prevent his escape. Another bullet was fired, this one fired by a trained soldier. The silver bullet grazed Karim's flesh, causing him to scream as he continued to run.

As the hunters moved to intercept him, Karim scrambled away from the swiftly closing trap. The fear, pain, and desperation were not content to simply trigger the vagrant's fight or flight instincts. Every length Karim ran in his panic brought another change to his flesh. Vicious claws emerged from the flesh in his hands, his pace quickened, while his hair grew ever longer and more wild. Unknown to Karim, who was too lost in his panic and frenzied run for safety, he had begun the transformation into a monster. The blood of the werewolf surged through his veins like a bolt of lightning, creating the most wondrous sensation of primal release. In succumbing and becoming a werewolf, Karim cast aside the chains of civilization and morality; precisely why the hunters were so eager to slay him.

An over zealous hunter drove his mount directly into Karim's path alone, leveling his rifle at the werewolf. Even when the other hunters shouted for their comrade to pull back, he clutched on the gun's trigger, his bullet passing just past the monster's skull. The only heed the monster paid to the man was a swing of his claw before a shot could be fired, rending the man's flesh apart. The scent of warm blood filled Karim's nose, and he followed his slashing by sinking his fangs into the human hunter's neck and jerking his head away immediately afterwards.

When the transformation into the monstrous werewolf was completed, the horses panicked, threatening to throw their riders off. Karim tore through the assembled hunters like a brutal, savage wind. He made a sudden about face amid a rain of flying silver bullets, turning around and running directly at his foes, moving too swiftly to be hit. Lifting and dragging his clawed hands behind him, he raked his claws across the chest of one hunter as he dived towards another, putting his claws in front of him as he made contact with the hunter. The warrior shrieked with pain as the monster's fanged muzzle grappled his throat, his dying scream cut off abruptly.

Another shot rang out across the silent, blood stained sands, and a silver bullet ripped through the werewolf's leg. The monster howled with pain, and grabbed the fallen hunter and his still living and frightened horse with his wickedly powerful arms. He hefted the corpse and horse off the ground and hurled both into the direction the shot had come from with a hateful snarl. Mount and dead rider fell upon his aggressor, knocking another hunter down and crushed beneath the weight of the horse. The confusion created by his mayhem seemed curious to the werewolf; had he been able to codify his thoughts in words, Karim would have wondered why these monkeys allowed themselves to lose their instincts at a time like this, for they could have surely slain him by now if they listened to the beasts they had within and fought back. But grinning a cruel wolfen smirk, the werewolf used the rampant chaos to his advantage and make another charge.

He ran to strike at Nayla, the obvious leader of the enemy pack, charging heedless back into the fray. The middle aged widow only raised her gun hastily and fired a shot into Karim's shoulder. The werewolf howled again, staggering backwards from the force of the impact and the searing pain. Scrambling backwards, the creature shifted from moving on two legs to running on all fours.

"Keep your distance!" Nayla screamed at the other hunters, spurring her horse to put space between herself and the demon she sought to kill. The other hunters likewise did the same, readying their guns for another volley of shooting. Furious but wounded, the werewolf turned around and resumed fleeing from the hunters. One round of silver after the other was absorbed by the seemingly endless dunes as the remaining hunters shouted and cursed behind him. The werewolf, seeking short sighted safety, dashed past the hunters as though gliding on the shadows cast by the dunes of the desert. Karim ran frantically towards the city of Cairo as a werewolf, driven by fear and the most primal urges to survive. Whether or not the city could survive him was another matter entirely. But the wolf didn't care. All the wolf cared about was living to see another moon. 


	20. Damned City Chapter 20

Author's Note: A lot of you might wonder if this story is going anywhere. Some of you might suspect that this story has no real ending. I don't blame you. But I promise you that this story will be completed, eventually. I've had the ending in mind since before I posted the first chapter, but I'll admit it's a rough idea of an ending, waiting to be fleshed out. With that in mind, I'd like to request everyone reading this be patient with me.

An old man, one of obvious European descent, stumbled out of a boarding house, taking weak and forced steps through the streets. As he started down the streets, he clutched his chest, as though struggling to breath. His flesh, where once it had been the eternally young body of a warrior had withered and wrinkled, and his once luxurious hair had been shifted into a long, stringy mass of sickly grey hairs that had begun to recede near his forehead. The smothering mist had twisted the Son of the Dragon beyond recognition; a hawk like nose now graced his face, his back had hunched over, and his near skeletal arms seemed unable to lift a spoon, let alone a blade.

Staggering through the city, fighting for every step, he was shocked to see that now the heathens the count passed by no longer feared his presence as they once had. Confidant as ever despite the sudden influx of entropy in his flesh, Dracula tried to force a pair of street folk having a conversation to get out of his way. Two frail seeming arms grabbed the men and tried to push them away, but it yielded nothing. The men turned around, and laughed. One pushed Dracula back, sending the vampire stumbling backwards, falling on to the ground with a hiss. As he tried to get back to his feet, the men only laughed harder, joined by other denizens of the streets. Every cackle inflamed Dracula's stolen blood, narrowing his eyes as he glared balefully at the ruffians. This only spurred them to laugh harder.

"Bastards," the vampire muttered, spitting the word out with as much caustic venom as he could use.

"And what are you going to do about it, old fool?" the larger of the two hooligans asked sarcastically with another laugh, "Call upon the British to punish us? Or are you going to give us a sound a thrashing?"

Dracula's gaze only grew more hateful as the rest of the street's population began taking notice of the situation. Even as he started to return to his feet, the tainted spark of undeath creating the only energy the count had left, laughter continued to echo through the shadows cast by the ancient city. The enraged vampire gazed at the ever increasing number of detractors surrounding him.

"I need no soldiers to punish you worms!" Dracula tried to shout, but all that emerged was a raspy hissing, the sound only the elderly and infirm could make. This only further amused the hecklers and hooligans, their laughter reaching a fever pitch. Gasping for breath from the effort expended in trying to shout, Dracula had no choice but to limp away in shame, this night already having proved to be his greatest shame since he had died the first time. His sunken eyes burned only with a hatred the living could never know, even as his body seemed to weaken with every step. The count paid no heed to the aches and pains he felt, fueling his every movement with the desire for survival and revenge.

By the time he had returned to his rented tenement and temporary haven from the light of day, Dracula was exhausted, even if his animated corpse felt no need to catch its breath. Bony hands pulled back and released the door's knocker, and again after the now aged immortal realized he was probably left unheard. When Renfield answered the door, his expression quickly shifted to one of confusion. This ragged old man had his beloved master's ring and clothes, but his master appeared much younger than even Renfield, let alone this nearly dead husk of a man. He only stared down at the creature at the door, trying figure this out without his master's aid.

"Renfield!" the old man snapped weakly at his befuddled servant, to which Renfield gasped. Inwardly, the count caught himself wishing again that he had left some capacity for independent thought in this foolish underling.

"M-m-master?" Renfield said, his voice laced with fear.

"Well, I'm glad you finally figured it out," Dracula said bitterly, "Now, help me to the wine cellar. Unless you'd rather save me the effort of walking down there and allow me to drain you dry right here."

Renfield only yelped, before helping his master up with a shudder. For Renfield, he was simply helping his master, the greatest man to ever walk these heathen filled lands, recover after he was attacked, although the servant couldn't quite guess what had attacked his master. Dracula, however, found the entire experience of needing the aid of a human, and Renfield of all humans, a bitter and painful one. Not even when he was held as a hostage by the Sultan of the accursed Turks in his living days had he been so helpless. In the centuries that had passed his death and unholy rebirth, he had always been forcing his will upon others, whether through manipulation, combat, or supernatural ability. And here he was, reduced to begging others for aid in forcing his will upon his own body. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the count turned to Renfield with a stern gaze.

"Renfield, I've got a job for you. Now listen carefully, because if you fail me in this task, you will find your way to the wine cellar. I want you to follow Professor Rafik Mrad. My notes on him are on my desk. I want to know where he goes and who he associates with, and you are not be seen while you are following him. You will return to his tenement once by dusk and give me every bit of information you acquired. Is that clear, Refield?"

"Yes, master," Renfield replied with a nervous gulp, before scrambling up the stairs to carry out his masters bidding. Dracula chuckled at the sight, inwardly musing about how much Renfield reminded him of a well trained hound. He then started heading deeper into the cellar, sniffing the air, the scent of blood heavy in the air. To a human, it would have been disgusting; to a vampire it was as sweet as honey. His brides were, as he had been expecting, still in the wine cellar, waiting for Verona to heal. Aleera was leaning against the wall, seeming bored. Marishka was hunched over the now cold body of a whore her master had seduced into the wine cellar. Verona it seemed was preoccupied with her steadily closing wounds. She would be ready to fly tomorrow night, or so Dracula estimated.

"Lovelies," Dracula croaked out, even his voice giving away his frail condition in the otherwise darkened room.

"Master?" Aleera said excitedly. Or maybe it was Marishka. To Dracula's ears, all three of the harpies were beginning to sound the same. He blamed his rapidly aged body, but he knew that on some level his distaste of them was also at fault.

"Yes my brides, I've returned. And I hunger now more than ever before. Would one of you ladies pass me a drink?"

Aleera got up off the ground, and dragged a woman, another obvious whore out of a cramped cell and over towards Dracula. The woman tried to scream, but a gag prevented her from being heard. Despite her struggles, the vampire overpowered her and presented her to Dracula. All her squirming earned her was sadistic laughter from the other two brides.

The count's sunken eyes turned blood red as he eyed the woman, her own eyes wide with fear. In the darkened cellar, only the monster's eyes could be seen by his victim. But the feel of clawed hands as cold as ice encircling her arms was quite distinct. The harlot's heartbeat sped up, and her thrashing grew ever more frantic. She tried to plead with the monster, but to no effect. As Dracula's fangs sank into her neck, she screamed one last time before the dead prince began to feed. He drank from her as fast as he could steal her blood, almost as if he had never savored the taste of blood before. He became an animal, lost in a brutal feeding frenzy, siphoning every last drop of the woman's blood on instinct.

Even as he lost himself in the taste of blood, Dracula's thoughts could only focus on vengeance. He thirsted for vengeance upon the ruffians who had hassled him in the streets and upon this damned city and all that lurked in its shadows. But most of all, he lusted to extract revenge upon the fiend called Rafik Mrad. For the first time since the gypsy mystic's prediction, the prince of Transylvania's nights was convinced that there was a power that could destroy him unless he could send it to hell first. 


	21. Damned City Chapter 21

Author's Note: Semester over, brain still recovering. I think a celebration is in order. And I'll start by working on my celebration of all the great old monster movies made by Universal Studios way back when. Anyone who's still following this story has my eternal thanks.

It was late into the night when the sickening sound of raspy cackling began to emerge from the office of Rafik Mrad, an unassuming professor of antiquities who had recently joined the museum's staff. Inside the office, the shriveled and emaciated form of Jarha the Mad was sitting placidly in front of a bronze scrying bowl filled with water and serpent's blood and an incense burner packed with the smoldering remains of vulture feathers. A maw full of pointed teeth stood as flat as a brick, while an unearthly crimson glow seeped out of the creature's otherwise empty eye sockets. The creature's bony hands clutched the skull of a jackal bearing ancient heka written in the blood of a man.

Secure in the mystical wards the mummy had cast around himself, he cast his senses across the void of space. The sensations of the office blurred away, giving way to a rushing out, away from the darkened city of Cairo, past ancient spires and domes, past the dens of vice the wealthy were wasting their nights in, past the ragged tenements of the city's poor, into the desert of the nomadic tribes, his senses flying across the dunes until he found what he was looking for. Soon enough, the creature finally sensed what it was searching for.Nestled amid the ever shifting dunes, Jarha's projected senses were inflamed by the stench of dead flesh and dried bile. Far off into the distance, he could hear horses and those accursed devices called guns.

The ancient immortal's detached consciousness banished distractions for a moment, and concentrated on the scent of dead flesh. Dead lips miles away spoke the tainted heka, projecting a dark magic across the length of space. Soon the mummy's animating life force, an abomidable form of energy that mocked the natural order simply by existing, was being siphoned into the physical world, fed to something that lay just beneath the sands, something not unlike Jarha himself. Had anyone been watching that particular dune, they would have seen a light draining black fog manifesting. The last thing Jarha's senses picked up before he returned his senses to his body was the rumbling of many starving predatory stomaches snarling. When the undying mummy returned to consciousness, it could not help but crack a barbed smile.

Confidant that his key would be protected for the night, Jarha the Mad put his ritual tools away, well out of sight of any overly curious "colleagues" from the museum. He rose to his feet and grabbed his leopard claw talisman to become Rafik Mrad. In the fiend's mind, the persona of Rafik Mrad seemed to be neccesary annoyance. But soon enough, the mummy thought to himself, there would be no need for Rafik Mrad, no need for deceptions, no need for anything save for the truth about creation itself. That there might be dire consquences to his quest for the ultimate truth was the last thing on the lunatic's mind. He did after all have a key to acquire before anything could be unearthed. In the back of his mind, the creature using the alias of Rafik Mrad knew that were he to fail, his masters would punish his poor judgment with nothing short of total oblivion.

As Professor Mrad left the museum in high spirits, he was completely oblivious to a set of European eyes that followed him out of the museum. It was only through deliberate effort that the European could stay hidden in the streets of Cairo, but the man would not be so easily defeated. Never straying far from the crowds that assembled even by night in the street, Renfield still managed to keep sight of his quarry. Renfield followed this man Rafik Mrad like a trained hunting hound at the behest of his master, knowing that the price of failure was destruction at the hands of his own master. 


	22. Damned City Chapter 22

The savage dance of predator and prey was playing out into the realm of the cold deserts outside of Cairo. A fat moon and unending sea of stars provided the only light in an otherwise darkened world of sand and shadow. The black form of a werewolf dashed across the landscape kicking up sand in its wake, its midnight colored fur one with the darkness. The monster once known as Karim Tadros ran as swiftly and silently as death itself, a phantom in the night. And deep within the creature's wild mind, it was afraid. A primal fear of the end sent blood rushing through its veins, blood seemingly tainted by the need to survive the night. It was seemingly as much a force of nature as the wind the beast was running with.

Behind the werewolf was a storm, three predators riding the swiftest horses their order could procure. They fired their silver loaded guns wildly at the vicious fiend, but the shapeshifter consistently stayed just far enough ahead to avoid having its pelt punctured by the silver bullets. Nayla rode out in front, screaming orders to her fellow hunters. But try as they might, the werewolf's desperation seemed only to make it faster, outrunning the horses and maintaining its distance from those that would slay it.

The werewolf bounded over a particularly large dune, paying no heed to the strange mist floating near by it. When the monster hunters approached the dune however, their fortunes changed drastically. Just as Nayla's gun caught the monster in its crosshairs, a terrible shriek tore through the desert night, a sound that was heard over the shouts of hunters and the heavy breathing of prey. As her remaining two warriors attempted to stop upon hearing the ear splitting noise, Nayla cursed at them and ordered them to continue their charge. Silhouettes of human shaped figures appeared on the horizon of the dune, illuminated by the moon's light, figures rising from the dune itself. Nayla frantically changed her course of action, trying to halt her advance.

She halted her horse but not fast enough. With another blood chilling shriek the shadowy figures were leaping towards her hunting party. The scent of grave dirt hung heavy in the air in those moments. Sudden bursts of gunfire from the hunters couldn't keep the darkness at bay. For those few split seconds when the flash of a gun's muzzle illuminated the night, the howling figures were visible for a brief moment. Ashen grey skin framed thin faces marked by fang filled maws. The creatures wore tattered clothing, and brandishing claw tipped hands. Their faces were locked in expressions of dire, unending hunger as they lunged for the two remaining hunters under Nayla's command.

"Ghouls!" one of the hunters roared above the sound of his rifle, unloading a cartridge into the skull of the first fiend to fall into his range.

A wave of night shrouded figures descended on the hunters, screaming like the desert winds, frantically charging towards the horse mounted warriors. Movement in the shadows could be seen, but the monster slayers found that they could only take blind shots at their enemies. A rare few bullets managed to pierce the flesh of a monster, even as all three hunters were firing as fast as their weapons would consent to fire. The ghouls that did manage to reach their prey without being shot cut the hunters with their dirt and blood encrusted claws. The first wave of ghouls to do so proved to be easy prey to the hunters, losing their unnatural existences to point blank shots that cried out into the desert night like thunder.

But still the ghouls continued pouring out of the shadows and directly at the hunters. The hunters fired their guns wildly to try and keep the ghouls at bay. But with every wave of ghouls, an ever increasing number managed to reach the horse riders. One hunter, a former solider named Hakim, fired his guns at the advancing horde until he ran out of ammunition. As he fought his panic to reload a weapon, the ghouls fell upon him. A claw shot out of the darkness and ripped Hakim's arm open, causing him to moan at the pain. The rest of the ghouls took this as a sign of weakness and began to attack him en masse. The fact that the smell of raw flesh was sent on the desert winds also helped create what could only be described as a crazed feeding frenzy. His fellow hunters fired desperately into the mob of ghouls swarming their comrade, but all their efforts were rewarded with were the terrible screams of gleeful predators. The sound of bones snapping and a horse braying drastically changed Nayla's battle plan.

"Retreat!" she shouted to her sole remaining warrior, a city guard named Taymullah who was untested against the forces of darkness that the Blessed Hunters struggled against.  
Her order was swiftly followed by her subordinate, and the two of them raced away from the foul ghouls. Their progress was good for only a few moments before the ghouls looked up from their macabre meal and dashed over the dunes in pursuit of new prey. As Nayla pushed her horse to run faster, she glanced over her shoulder only to check on the last remaining member of her party. Soon enough she found herself having to fire her now rare bullets at the ghouls that were catching up with her comrade. Dividing her attention between what was ahead and what was behind her, Nayla only managed to catch bits and pieces of what happened next.

As Taymullah dashed past particularly high dune with the ghoul pack howling at his heels, a lone ghoul bounded off the top of the dune screaming to the moon. The monster's silhouette could have been seen in the moonlight at it leapt, its claws bared and about to fall on the hapless guard's form. Taymullah instinctively looked up at the screaming monster, his eyes widening as he realized that death had come for him. Nayla glanced back just in time to see the leaping ghoul spilling her comrade's blood across the cold sands. It was then that she realized that she was the only one left alive. She kept pushing her horse forward, firing back at the ghouls with every bullet that remained in her supply, cursing at the monsters as she struggled to kill them. Her head start over the undead and the distraction of human carrion was enough to save Nayla's life from the creatures.

As she retreated from the site of the battle, only thing on her mind was piecing together what had just happened. Nothing about the ambush made sense to her, and she realized that there was something much larger than the werewolf that had escaped her grasp. Elsewhere in the freezing deserts, Karim kept running, stooping down to all fours, kicking up sand as he ran. He too understood that something significant had made itself known, and in the depths of his instincts, he knew that this was the doing of the voice of nightmares.


	23. Damned City Chapter 23

-Document: The Testament of Zehutikhenemet the Reborn, from the now lost Cynopolis Codex, translator unknown

Past the black lands of Khem

Beyond the red lands of Drvt

Seek not to travel there

Past the power of the gods

Beyond the ken of mortal thought

Avoid this forsaken place

For no treasures nor fruits

Nor scrolls nor talisman

Lie within this place

It is the Unnamed

The Unspoken

The Cursed

Know then that this place

Was built ages before

Our grandfathers

And their grandfathers

Before the pyramids took shape

Before the unity of the lands

Before the parting of primal Nun

Before the birth of the gods

We know not where this place

Arose from, nor who built it

It is not a place for mortal man

No mortal hand could craft

Such profane structures

In the middle of the desert

No chisels have kissed this place

Yet an unseen hand hath shaped

A city not of straight lines

But indescribable contorted forms

A vile book is carved all about

The hieroglyphs resonate with

Madness and sorrows

What creatures could have

Inhabited let alone build this place

Disappeared in ages before

That place which is not to be named

The foul scar on the world

Lays in ruins now

Decimated by the gods

And hidden from man

Seek not to enter this dark place

Be not tempted by its cursed lore

Serve not the Dark Elsewhere

For ye will reap only damnation

For thyself as well as all creation

-Document: A translation of a wall inscription of an unknown tomb from the notes of Dr. Thomas Winters, colleague of Dr. Richard Harrison

Men of Egypt

Men of foreign lands

Pay heed to my warnings

And never dare to enter this tomb

For the gods have decreed

That for a thousand thousand sins

That for wanton blasphemy

That this damned spirit

This spiller of blood

This corrupter of souls

This breaker of divine ma'at

Will be bound to the chains of flesh

For all time

Stay away

Wander not near this place

Lest the Mad One awaken

For even in death will he serve

The Dark Elsewhere

In the name of Anubis I warn ye

In the name of Anubis I beg ye

Let not the fiend escape this place

And smother all creation with his taint

-Document: Internal memo written by Dr. Victor Frankenstein to the rest of the University of Strasbourg archeological staff in Egypt

Date: XX-XX-19XX

To: History and Anthropology Department

From: Dr. Victor Frankenstein

Subject: Expedition to set out earlier than scheduled

As many of you may well know, the University of Strasbourg has recently formed an academic partnership with Dr. Rafik Mrad of the Cairo Museum's Egyptology Department. Due to circumstances beyond either party's control, we've been forced to move our scheduled journey to Dr. Mrad's "Valley of the Gods" and the ruins therein to set out in two days rather than eight. Arrangements are being made as efficiently as possible, and everyone will be expected to be prepared by 7:00 AM. Rumors of unusual cargo are utterly false and are to be disregarded. 


	24. Damned City Chapter 24

Karim came to an hour after dawn, laid out on a beggar's blanket and covered in blood. The scent of spilled gore caused Karim to shudder and tighten the fetal position he woke up in, closing his eyes tightly, as if it would make his waking nightmare go away. And as it had every time before, every heavy liquor, every breath of a water pipe, every attempt to end his own life, reality refused to bend to his desires. He could recall nothing of the previous evening save for a few flashes memory. The memories were mostly sensations; the sight of the moonlight over the desert, the cold sands beneath his feet, the taste of blood and flesh in his mouth, a rancid stench unlike any he had smelled before. But most of all he remembered a feeling of dread with no discernable source, something ominous echoing with the voice of nightmares. Just thinking about it made Karim try to force himself back to the stupor of sleep, but again he failed. His nerves were too frayed, his mind too preoccupied with uncertainty. Perhaps, he mused, it was the beast within sensing something amiss that a man could never notice. His urge to flee the alley he found himself in seemed to confirm that suspicion, and he suspected that his unease was bound to the voice of nightmares. The confusion over everything that had happened in the past few days was maddening for Karim, his utter lack of knowledge gnawing at him from within.

Despite his misgivings and urge to escape reality, Karim pulled himself off the ground. He needed water to drink and clean with; walking around the streets of Cairo drenched in blood was tantamount to suicide. He staggered upwards and then forward, each step costing him a terrible effort. This was unusual, even after nights when he succumbed to the wolf. He looked down towards his most painful ache only to discover a bullet wound marring his flesh. It took him a moment to comprehend the full ramifications, but when he did he twitched nervously. Never before had he suffered a wound that the wolf couldn't heal by the time he regained control. The prospect of someone being able to kill was at once terrifying and hopeful at the same time. Part of him, the part that had been consumed with guilt over his actions as a werewolf, wanted nothing more than a merciful death and release from his curse. The rest of him, the part that had endured far too much to give up so easily, wanted to be frightened because someone had figured out how to kill him, cursed or not. The wolf wanted to live as well, and Karim could tell even as the beast slumbered in his soul during the daylight hours.

"In that way," Karim thought to himself as he realized that he had been wounded elsewhere, "the wolf is much like any animal. Survival is all it really desires."

As he was taking stock of his situation, Karim failed to notice that a lone figure had entered the mouth of the alley. When Karim saw the man, he stopped in his tracks, unsure of how this figure would react to his own blood stained form. The man, clearly a European in the dress and features carrying a battered brown leather doctor's bag, only raised a somewhat surprised eyebrow at the sight. Cold, emotionless eyes stared at Karim for what seemed like an ungodly length of time, reminding the vagrant of being prey. He didn't like a bit, and neither did the wolf. Karim finally chose to try and walk away from the man and flee Cairo before the European could contact the police. The wolf within encouraged Karim to kill this potential threat before it could become an active threat. Wounded and exhausted, murder was well beyond Karim's capacity, despite what the wolf howled for.

"Mister Tadros," Victor Frankenstein said to Karim in a tone as cold and devoid of feeling as his demeanor.

The werewolf's heart jumped when he heard his name, eyes widening in fright. This seemed only to amuse the man, who grinned ever so slightly, an expression that only made Karim's fears worse.

"Mister Tadros, I believe we can aid one another," Victor continued, shaking his head when the ignorant street urchin refused to respond to his greeting. His eyes narrowed as Karim tried to take off running.

"Adam!" he hissed when the vagrant began his mad dash.

A massive, heavily clothed figured stepped into Karim's sight. As he skidded to a sudden halt, Karim saw into the figure's eyes for a split second. The eyes were a mismatched pair, one blue and the other brown, and a string of stitches was laid across the figure's rotted grey face. It didn't take Karim more than a moment to rethink his escape plan and run the opposite direction.

"After him," Victor said casually to his creation, tapping the device that allowed the scientist to reign in the artificial construct. The golem of flesh and metal sneered and dashed after Karim.

The monster's footsteps made a heavy thumping sound against the dirt covered alley, and Karim could feel vibrations from the earth shaking stomps. It wasn't long before Karim encountered an obstacle in the form of an iron fence blocking his path. He charged towards the fence and leapt up on to it, before frantically scrambling up the metal bars. As he reached the top of the fence, he took a split second to glance at the figure pursuing him. Massive hands, greyed and stitch covered as the face, were being put forth in front of the creature, hands lunging for the panic stricken vagrant. Karim hopped down from the fence and began running as fast as he could, secure in the knowledge that a heavy mountain of muscle like the monster behind him could never hope to scale that fence. He was half way towards the mouth of another alley and for the first time in the short day hopeful for the future, a hideous sound of metal grinding and twisting reached his ears. Karim spun his head around for another split second to the sight of the stitched figure tearing the fence apart. Adam roared with fury before charging out after Karim. It was all Karim could do to pick up his pace and pray to God that he could escape. The wolf felt the need to flee as well, although the fact that Karim was in harmony with the demon in his soul was unnerving even as there were more pressing matters chasing after him.

The thudding continued gaining on Karim, and the vagrant shot out of the alley and charged into the morning crowds. The monster followed him into the crowd, knocking a few unlucky and slow bystanders with his massive hands. The throngs of humanity fled at the sight of the apparent assault, the unnatural strength of the monster convincing many that they wanted nothing to do, let alone risk getting entangled with, whatever madness was unfolding before them. Eventually Karim began to become short of breath. He glanced backwards once again as his pace started to suffer for his exertion, and saw that his pursuer was still running at full speed, lunging for Karim like machine of iron and steam. Karim turned back towards the street in front of him, his throat burning and now painful heart pounding furiously against his chest. In the back of his mind he wished he could give into the wolf now and become that monster he so feared. But he had no such luck. Adam caught up with his prey and grabbed the spindly limbed human by his neck with a murderous look of rage in his eyes. The monster raised Karim's eyes to met its, giving the vagrant a dangerously close look at the dead eyes haphazardly placed in the grey skinned head.

"Adam," Victor said sternly to his creation, not bothering to raise his voice.

The monster snarled and dragged Karim into another alley, hurling his victim into a wall with a mighty hurl. His very breath was knocked out of his body on impact, causing Karim to whimper weakly as he laid on the ground, incapacitated from the struggles of the last few days. He raised his head just enough to see the European who commanded the monster rummaging in his bag and withdrawing a syringe. He motioned towards Karim and gave his monster a command Karim was too tired and wounded to hear over the shuddering sound of blood rushing through his head. The fiend lifted Karim again, pressing him against the wall. The European jammed the syringe and unloaded its contents into Karim's exposed arm, the chemicals taking effect within minutes of the injection. And as it had when he succumbed to the wolf, Karim blacked out.

"You can release him now, Adam," Victor said to his creation, carefully setting the used syringe back into his bag.

"And I thought the brilliant Doctor Frankenstein was above working as a petty goon," Adam said as he slowly lowered Karim to the ground.

"This vagrant, foul as he is, is the key to a secret more ancient than any embalming tricks. One that should work out better than my last discovery," Victor replied bitterly.

"You believe that lunatic Mrad's claims," Adam said disdainfully, "I must admit that even I'm disappointed in your wisdom."

"Think of it as suffering what you've done to others," Victor replied.

It was then that another set of footsteps began scuffing against the dirt alley, and the dour visage of Rafik Mrad became visible. In his hands he carried chains glittering with a white metallic sheen. Silver.

"Doctor Frankenstein," he said with a tone of restrained admiration, "Your construct never ceases to amaze me."

"Thank you Professor Mrad," Victor said in his usual cold tone, his own regard for Adam far less than Rafik's.

Hidden from the hunting party, carrying out the orders of his master, Renfield listened to the conversation carefully, intent to relaying it to his undead god on earth. He feared being discovered, but a broken neck at the hand of the monster built by the mad Frankenstein seemed more merciful than languishing in his lord's wine cellar. So he watched, and prayed to the God his master turned his back on, that he would survive to please his lord.

Rafik Mrad calmly bound the tranquilized vagrant in silver chains, while the creature beneath the illusion grinned wickedly. Death had only been the beginning; this vagrant would lead him to the end. 


	25. Damned City Chapter 25

The Son of the Dragon paced nervously in the basement of his lair, surrounded in the sweet stench of human blood. The noon day sun was blazing down on the Victorious City above. As his brides slept in their respective coffins, their master was far too nervous to let even the cycles of day and night ease his mind. Where in the hell was Renfield? Dracula tried to calm his nerves by repeating his servant's task; follow Mrad, find out what he was up to, and return by dusk. It was noon, and Renfield certainly couldn't be done by now. He glanced down at the floor he could barely see, smelling the corpses he left scattered about. He had drained every last mortal trapped in his wine cellar trying to turn back his sudden aging. Damn that fiend Mrad. There was but one creature in any world that had gotten the better of the Son of the Dragon. Father of lies, lord of the inferno, first among the fallen angels. That this creature Mrad could do what only the Devil had done before continued to reinforce his conviction that this man was tied to that which could remove him from power. Damn that monster Mrad.

Nayla, now a meek and exhausted human, rode back into Cairo under the same noon day sun that the mighty vampire Dracula hide from. Her guns were empty, and her blade's edge had dulled over the course of the last night. Now she made her way back to the House of the Blessed hunters with no success to report to her superiors, but the deaths of the men serving under her to account for. Her days as a leader of warriors were surely over, but she accepted this as the consequence for failure. But had it not been for those blasted ghouls, she would have returned with the werewolf's pelt. She had no idea, no matter how many times she tried to figure it out, where those monsters had come from. A purge two months ago had scattered the ghouls to the winds. The largest packs had been decimated, yet this one was the largest Nayla had ever seen. Somehow, she knew those creatures were protecting that damned werewolf. And because of them, the House had lost a number of its most able warriors. Damn that vagrant Tadros.

Elsewhere, Adam pulled a cart containing the unconscious werewolf trapped in his human form by the light of the sun through the desert behind the horses ridden by his master. The scorching desert sun only fueled his anger, his utter hatred for the human demon calling himself Victor Frankenstein. He had never asked that this man to bring him to life, never asked him to follow Adam to the Arctic circle, and never asked him to revive his dormant body. And now he was a slave, and unliving machine, to this lunatic Frankenstein. His dead heart pounded against his steel backed rib cage, every thud growing faster as he thought about his servitude. His dead hands tightened around the wooden poles he was dragging through the wastelands as he brooded on the matter. And now, he was being dragged deep into the wastelands in search of some desert valley only the equally insane Rafik Mrad knew how to reach. But what Victor sought there Adam didn't care. It could be Holy Grail for the mad scientist or the eerie professor, either way it would mean nothing to Adam. His servitude was bound to that infernal device. Damn that lunatic Frankenstein.

Renfield dashed down the streets of Cairo as the sun shined down on him. When he realized where Mrad and his party were traveling, he knew he could never hope to follow them and return by dusk to his master. He struggled against the caravan merchant who had sold transportation to Mrad's party, nearly beating the man to death to extract every bit of information he had. Now he was rushing to the museum Mrad worked at for more information to give his master, and after that he'd have to rush to the Strasbourg University's camp on the Giza plateau to find out what Frankenstein was up to. Stress and frustration ran high, but he was so dedicated to his undead liege that he could only direct his thoughts of anger at the city around. Damn this heathen city.

Far away from the Victorious City, far away from those that would seek the Valley of the Fallen Gods, in a place that had gone unviolated for thousands of years, something primordial and unknowable stirred beneath the sands. Above it was a mystical ward, the power of which was unknown in the modern age. No living being could hope to comprehend this darkness's thoughts, but it sensed that soon it would damn the world to darkness. 


	26. Damned City Chapter 26

When he came to for the second time in the same day, Karim groaned as the sun blazed directly into his eyes. He turned around reflexively, not really caring where he was. His wrists and ankles burned hotter than the sun however, and Karim began to writhe as soon as he regained even a modicum of consciousness. The shackles stung, but Karim could sense that the metal's heat was coming more from being left out in the sunlight. He also sensed that he was moving, but as to where he was he didn't really want to learn. Karim crawled around the wooden cart blindly, groaning all the while, trying to get his bearings. Adam was the first and only one to notice that Karim regained consciousness, and he turned his head to see if the vagrant was going to give him any trouble. Karim shuddered when he saw the monster's face again.

"Don't worry," Adam said gruffly, "I'm not the monster you should fear."

"Why," Karim croaked out, "why'd you do this to me?"

"Frankly, I had no choice," Adam responded.

"How can you have no choice in the matter?" Karim asked nervously. The sun was beating down on him, and speaking to this fiend, this coherent, almost rational seeming fiend made of dead flesh and stitches, was the only thing that made the searing heat seem a little less aggravating.

"Victor Frankenstein," Adam said contemptuously, "That lunatic has a cast iron control over me. My life, this damned mockery of life, can end on a mad man's whim. Even this foul shell of a life is too great to simply cast aside in the name of mere principle."

Karim stared at the monster built by this Victor Frankenstein, his voice stilled by the frightening words spoken to him. The silence was fairly awkward, even considering the fact that a golem of grave plucked corpses was trying to convince a vagrant lycanthrope of why he had to abduct him from the streets of Cairo for an insane scientist neither of them really respected. No, the only thing both monsters shared was a fear of Victor Frankenstein. Eventually the silence grew too heavy, and Karim stammered out a few more syallables.

"That sounds terrible," he said weakly.

"It is as miserable as you'd expect and many times worse," Adam replied after a while longer of uncertain silence.

"Even the British grant me more freedom than this Victor Frankenstein has given you," Karim continued, still very nervous under the circumstances, "I suppose that freedom isn't something to be granted by others though, but that's more philosophy than anything else."

"Freedom is never granted by others," Adam replied with a vile snort that resembled a crackle of electricity, "It can only be stolen by others. Others like Frankenstein who stole my freedom. First he granted me life only to steal that which makes it worth living."

"Every life seems to be a tangled mass of unfair contradictions," Karim replied in a mumble, "At least in my experience."

"Agreed," Adam said simply. After that, much of the tension between the two creatures eased up somewhat, their would be masters unaware of their discussion, "The madness of Victor Frankenstein is sickening. His immorality is stunning in light of any way you look at it. And that he would drag others into his self imposed hell of sin and spitting in the face of creation, it burns me inside. I want nothing of his experiments, I just want to live!"

"You seem alive to me. Had you not mentioned that you weren't alive, I would have continued to believe your heart beat as mine. How is it possible that you are not alive when you draw breath and feel the passion you do?"

"Life is more than heart beats and breath. I walk as a man, but so long as Victor Frankenstein lords his power over me, I'm but an animal. No true man can be said to be so thoroughly enslaved as I, no true life can be constrained by the whims of another. And what's more, he would never consent to let me truly live, and as long as he holds my life on his wrist, I will never escape the state of waking death you see me in now."

There was another tense silence following Adam's diatribe. Karim reached his body out and forward from the cart to try and see the figures ahead of him riding on horses. The unforgiving sunlight and the haze of loose sand flying about in the noon day winds made getting a decent look at them impossible. Adam's decayed lips twisted into a frown as he gazed forward as well, sinking his attention into his task rather than the reason he was doing it. It wasn't much longer before he chose to break the silence and take what little relief he could from conversation.

"Do you have any idea why Doctor Frankenstein of this Professor Mrad would have you tranquilized and dragged out into the desert?" Adam asked.

"I honestly can't say," Karim said with a shake of his head, "But knowing my luck as of late, it probably has something with this curse I bear."

"What curse do you suffer that might draw the attention of those mad men?" Adam said, chancing a glance at Karim.

"The curse of the man who runs as a wolf. I think the Europeans call it lycanthropy, but such a cold term doesn't do the affliction justice," Karim said timidly with only a hint of indignation directed towards whatever forces manipulated fate.

"The curse of lycanthropy? But there are werewolves across the world, what in the world make you any diff... blasted manic mind of Victor Frankenstein, I could never hope to understand it. But I know nothing of this affliction of suffer. Perchance you could enlighten me about what it entails?"

"It's terrible," Karim said, inhaling a deep breath of dry desert air to calm his nerves, "When the moon rises, well, whenever the moon's light shines down on my, there's... a... I don't know what it is, really, but it doesn't really matter what it is. Either way, no matter what I do, no matter how much alcohol and smoke I ingest, no matter how many times I pray, I still lose control."

"Lose control of what?" Adam asked, seemingly intrigued by this line of conversation.

"When the wolf within takes over, I'm no longer myself," Karim said, averting his eyes from the corpse golem as he lied to the creature, "And when the wolf is in control, I'm as an animal, with no mortals or self control beyond base survival. Sometimes that, well, it spurs me to murder others.

"Everytime I succumb to the wolf, it seems as if someone has to die," Karim continued, steadily growing more afraid in his tone and posture, "Maybe I'm wrong about how often I kill others, but when the wolf takes control, I have no power to influence, it runs around as it pleases, never accountable or controllable by any force of nature, divine and otherwise. Survival is all that matters, and if the wolf deems that I must murder others to survive, then I find myself compelled to agree with it. It all seems so natural until I wake up in strange place while soaked in blood the next morning."

"You mean to say that this... curse," Adam said gravely, as though even he could be frightened by the prospect of uncontrolled bloodlust Karim was speaking about "of yours induces you to slay others by overpowering your will entirely?"

Karim only nodded, his face a mask of bewildered sorrow. 


	27. Damned City Chapter 27

Renfield's frayed nerves had reached their absolute limit over the course of the day. As he ran as fast as he could carrying an armload of maps and documents, dashing through the streets trying to reach his master before dusk. He snapped at the pedestrians that would impede his travel, cursing at the passers by to part the crowds. A thousand equally foul words were fired off in his direction, but in his burning zeal and blind dedication for his dead master, he ignored the foul cries of the street. He staggered over into the doorway of his master's temporary haven, the same building Renfield had learned from top to bottom in the short time his master had resided there. In that short time, his master's edicts had caused him to inadvertently learn everything he could about the strange country and tenement that they would be lairing in only for a time. And while Renfield would never confess to it, the only thing that frightened him more was the prospect of something so terrible that it would frighten his beloved master into staying in these heathen lands.

The servant carried his findings through the tenement and down into the dreaded wine. He tapped on the wall once, but before he could knock again, he could feel the burning eyes of his master falling upon him. Unseen eyes that were far closer to Renfield than he would have thought possible so soon.

"Renfield," a voice from the shadows almost purred like a tiger toying with a meal, "May I assume from your return to my presence that you have something to give me, or are you merely offering yourself as tonight's breakfast?"

"P-please master, I did everything I could..." Renfield stammered out before his own voice lingered away.

"You sound as if you've failed me," the voice continued as a wave of palpable malice washed over Renfield.

"I, I did what I could, b-but Professor Mrad has left Cairo, heading out into the desert. But, but I learned e-everything I could about where he was going. I've got maps, requisition forms, travel plans, university memos..." Renfield said, again unable to continue his stammering sentence.

"Very good Renfield," the master's voice continued, and Renfield could almost visualize the shark's grin his master was wearing at that moment, "Leave your findings on my desk and run off to polish my blade. I believe I'll need it before the night's over."

Renfield scampered off to his master's desk and then his armaments trunk, eagerly performing the requested chore.

Back in the wine cellar, Dracula's brides began to stir from their slumber. Aleera was the first, followed by Marishka, with Verona being the last to awaken. While Dracula frowned when he heard them waking, he refused to let his displeasure take a tangible form as he had done with Renfield. No, his brides were far too useful to him as they were; utterly enthralled by him and convinced that he loved them as no other. It was a lie of course, but it was a convenient lie for the undead prince.

"Lovelies," Dracula began as the last of his brides awakened, "Tonight is going to be one to remember."

"What do you mean, master?" Marishka asked still in a haze.

"Would you desire our aid tonight, master?" Verona added quickly, and to Dracula's practiced ear, she sounded as if she were trying to beat her sisters to being the first to turn into a sycophant."

"Indeed I do. I desire that the three of you cease your treacherous bickering, then feed yourselves and assemble on the roof and await me."

"Yes, master," the three demons said almost as one, and the sound of footsteps scrambling up out of the wine cellar could be heard.

Dracula merely sighed and felt his face, frowning when the sensation of wrinkles hadn't left. In the past, even terrible wounds suffered at the hands of other fiends had been healed after an orgy of bloodletting and feasting, combined with a day's rest. But this twisted magic that had contorted his once proud and refined features into the crumpled visage of an elderly human was more persistent than anything else the count had been afflicted with in his years as a nocturnal warlord, and while he had regained his former strength, he knew well that his form was still trapped in this mockery of his past beauty. All he could think of as his gnarled hands stroked his creased skin was his ever growing hatred for Rafik Mrad and his dark magic. That he would pursue this creature into the hellish deserts was a testament to his fury that surprised even him, but his intuition told him that this creature calling itself Rafik Mrad would lead him to the threat to his eternity.

Removing his hand from his face, Dracula pulled himself out of the abyss of self pity and the literal pit of the wine cellar, making his way over towards the documents Renfield had left him. He managed to avoid being seen by anyone, and locked the office door behind him so as to prevent his disfigurement from being known by those beneath him. He lit a handful of candles and reviewed the maps and travel plans, frowning deeply as he evaluated the strange actions of Rafik Mrad. It wasn't difficult for Dracula to discern where the professor would be heading in the desert, and he knew that he and his brides could easily fly the distance. The only question was whether four vampires could slay whatever was waiting for him out in that hellish, forsaken wasteland.

Suddenly, as Dracula lost himself in his probing of the documents, there was a knock at the door, and Renfield plead with his master to open the door so that he could return Dracula's sword. The vampire didn't heard anything save the general concept of his servant's pleas, and told Renfield to head to the roof, rather than face him any more than he had to with this mummified face. The reminder of his mutilation spurred Dracula to clench his fanged teeth together in frustration. Oh yes, this Professor Mrad would pay. With a terrible hiss, his sent his fist into the wall of his study, breaking the wall like it was but a mass of thin air. With this, he left the safety of his study, and walked to the roof to introduce his closest servants to what was seemingly his new visage.

He exited on to the roof with his head held high, a nobleman of the night even after being mutilated. His brides sneered wickedly as they presumed he was but a feeble old mortal and prepared to treat him as such, and Renfield. Dracula snarled at all of them, turning his anger into a tangible thing to remind his servants of who they were dealing with. Aleera whimpered and took a step back, while Marishka only widened her eyes. Verona cringed slightly, but only Renfield seemed concerned with his master's condition, for he too had recognized that this was unusual while the brides thought only of their own survival.

"Master," Verona choked out after an awkward silence, "Is that you, master?"

"Indeed it is," Dracula responded as he shifted into his demonic bat form, but even his monstrous grey skinned war form washed over his features, he still appeared to be more ancient than he should, "Now prepare to follow me into flight. I've got much to accomplish, and I may well have only one night to accomplish it in. If any of you three ruin this night's tasks, the three of you will pay for it with your existences. Are we clear on this matter, lovelies?"

Another chorus of instantaneous agreement punctuated the transformation of his brides. Their eagerness to please without thinking of anything save his satisfaction, while somewhat comforting, was vaguely unnerving to him. Dracula then turned to Renfield, his leering demonic visage staring into his servant's eyes, and from Renfield's perspective, into his soul.

"You've done very well Renfield," Dracula said with a razor fanged smirk, "Prepare for my return by restocking the wine cellar with casks, would you?"

"Yes, yes, master," Renfield said confidently.

Dracula then spread his grey wings and took to the skies above Cairo at a determined pace. His brides unquestioningly followed him into blackened sky, not knowing where they were going, but willing to follow him there none the less. As the count considered the blind faith and trust his servants had in him, doubt began to emerge in his mind. Although he had put up the bravest front he could, deep within his mind and what little remained of his soul, he wasn't so certain that he'd ever return to see the lights of Cairo, let alone the storm swept peaks of the Carpathians. But in all his centuries, he had never backed down and surrendered, not even when the massive armies of the Turks were sent against him. One more heathen Arab wasn't going to stop Vladislaus Dracula. 


	28. Damned City Chapter 28

Dusk dawned on the desolate plains of the Sahara, a fattened gibbous moon looming in the night sky for all to see. The joint expedition of the Cairo Museum and the University of Strasbourg was setting up camp for the night beneath a rock cliff outcropping. Unbeknownst to the scholars and scientists, the expedition's chief leaders were quietly making their way away from the camp site and over towards the dark place known in ancient times only as the Valley of the Fallen Gods. Now wandering towards a desolate rocky valley on foot, Rafik Mrad, Victor Frankenstein, and Konrad Dippel, as Adam continued to drag the cart containing Karim like a pack mule.

Karim was perhaps, despite his front row view of the proceedings, the most oblivious to the world and situation around him. The bloated moon in the sky brought the wolf to the forefront of his mind, and it had become a terrible struggle to try and hold back the beast. The silver shackles began to sting his flesh, but still he fought to retain the shape of a man, knowing that to change shape now was to burn his own flesh in the silver chains. But it still hurt, and Karim couldn't help but whimper pathetically.

"Are you all right?" Adam asked almost sympathetically, turning around to catch sight of Karim as he continued carrying out his creator's demands.

"S-silver," Karim hissed, closing his eyes, trying to concentrate on retaining his shape and restraining the wolf.

Adam shook his head, knowing there was nothing he could do. He shot a bitter glance towards his creator, but in the night's shadows, he knew well Victor couldn't see the hatred in his creation's eyes. At that moment, Victor was arguing with Konrad, and their voices were raising to dangerous levels.

"Victor, this is my absolute limit! This entire journey is madness, madness like we had when we built that damned monster!" Konrad shouted.

"Konrad, please shut up. You're a scientist, you should be thrilled that you have this chance to unearth a prize such as that Professor Mrad is offering us a chance to be a part of," Victor said, his usually cold tone burning with venomous contempt for his partner.

"But Victor," Konrad almost whimpered, "I've got a bad feeling about this whole infernal expedition. It's the same feeling I got..."

"When we built our cadaver puppet, yes, you've been wailing about it since we got to Egypt," Victor interrupted with a scowl on his features, "You seem almost eager to remain in ignorance."

"How in the world can you compare remaining ignorant with spiting God and doing things man was never meant to?"

"Man was meant to surpass God!" Victor shouted at Konrad, the cold hearted doctor's demented passion rising to the fore, "Medicine, machines, philosophy, all of it has been adding up to the removal of God from the natural order of things! We could become gods were it not for simpering cowards and weak hearted fools like you!"

"Enough!" Konrad howled with rage as he turned around, "I'm turning back now, consequences and science be damned!"

"Adam," Victor said, narrowing his eyes towards Konrad as his cold bitter tone returned in force, "Would you be so kind as to strangle Doctor Dippel as you did to my Elizabeth?"

"What?" the daemon roared at his master as Konrad began to run, furious that he was being commanded to slay another, "You are mad Frankenstein, I'll not end a life at your behest!"

"Oh that's right, you only kill according to your own whims," Victor retorted as he flipped a switch on his gauntlet, bringing a swarm of lights into being around his wrist.

Victor turned a knob on his wrist ever so slightly before turning it back, but that was all it took to illicit a scream from Adam. The insane scientist's cold stare relayed his orders again, and Adam bounded after the unfortunate Konrad. Konrad's legs weren't the most practiced, as life in the labs and universities hadn't pushed him to keep his body in shape, but he ran with the desperate passion of a gazelle amid hungry lions. He didn't dare look back as he lost himself in the maze of rocky outcroppings and cliffs, but the sound of the monster's footsteps thudding against the stone sent shivers up his spine. The monster on the other hand wasn't breaking a sweat keeping up with Konrad. The pursuit continued until a panicked and fearful Konrad ran into a dead end in the maze of rocks. His eyes widened, but in his frenzied retreat, he turned around in a desperate attempt to flee.

Adam continued his charge even as Konrad charged towards him. The monster's arm shot out and knocked the breath out of Konrad as the mad doctor hit the ground with a thud. Konrad scrambled to get back on his feet even as his heart burned his chest from exhaustion, but as soon as he was standing again, the fiend he had a hand in creating sent its huge hand crashing into his chest, knocking Konrad against a stone wall. The jagged rock tore into Konrad's flesh. Between the dozen or so wounds sliced into his flesh by the tiny stone razors and his fatigue, Konrad could do little more than pant and stare at the monster with frightened eyes. He had never contemplated his down death as he was then. Konrad knew nothing of what was awaiting him on the other side of life, and he had no idea what he had done over the course of his life to earn whatever was there.

In that split second while Konrad was lost in thoughts of his certain death, Adam's massive corpse colored hands reached for the man's neck and squeezed. There was no sound and no struggle after Konrad blacked out, his last thought lamenting his work on the fiend that was choking him.

As the constructed monster was slaying Konrad, Rafik Mrad was dragging Karim out of the cart and marching the vagrant ever closer into the valley, the silver shackles allowing for a bare minimum of movement that still seemed too sow for Rafik. He had been dead for thousands of years, years spent waiting for this exact moment. He didn't exchange a word with either his key or his compatriot Doctor Frankenstein, who was busy overseeing the murder of his sniveling colleague. Rafik merely dragged Karim by the scruff of his neck into the rocky valley.

Karim opened his eyes just as Rafik reached the bottom of the deep valley, where shadows were cast by jagged rocks and imposing cliffs in the moonlight. Despite the lunar haze his curse had thrown him into, Karim glanced down towards the bottom of the valley, and saw only shadows at first. He closed his eyes once and opened them a moment later to the sight of an altered sea of darkness. He forced his eyes to remain open afterwards, and he beheld something not of the world he knew. A rippling blanket of darkness was dancing at the valley's bottom, black tendrils of an abyss swarming around something even further below. The darkness it seemed was pulsating, beating and surging like a devil's black heart. Glancing over towards his captor, Karim could see only the darkness reflected in the old man's eyes, but the darkness in the eyes of Rafik Mrad was gleeful, embracing the bottomless pit whole heartedly.

"Who, who're you?" Karim stammered out as he saw into the creature's eyes.

"That doesn't matter," Rafik hissed with his wild eyes, "What matters is who you are my vagrant friend."

"My name is Karim Tadros," Karim replied with a groan.

"You're not quite understanding me," Rafik replied with a twisted chuckle, "You're just another nameless vagrant so far as I'm concerned."

"So then why'd you go, go through alla this trouble to drag me out here? Is it because of my..."

"You call it a curse, but that's because you have no idea what it means or where it originated. Tell me, did your father ever speak of your curse? Or did he simply neglect the matter?"

"My father disappeared when I was a child. Did he, was he the one who cursed me?"

Rafik broke out into laughter, openly mocking Karim.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Karim shot back, trying and failing to be angry with this strange man. Fatigue prevented him from being stirred to anger, and frankly Karim had never cared much for his father in any case.

"You have no idea what it means to bear your so-called curse," Rafik continued, quietly gloating about the secrets he was keeping from his key.

"You must be mad," Karim muttered, as he could think of no other explanation.

"And you'll see in due time my damned fellow," Rafik continued, still chuckling as he reached the apparent bottom of the valley, soft footsteps echoing through the night. The aged professor walked right up to the wall of darkness, turning his eyes away from his captive and gazing into the abyss.

"When?"

"Right... now," Rafik said as he pressed Karim against the darkness.

It was all Karim could do to scream. He had suffered pain before, but this was unlike anything else he had suffered. Ten thousand suns seemed to be compressed in this one pool of darkness, and the burning sensation was total. It seemed as if Karim was trapped in an inferno for centuries with every second he spent in the grip of the madman pushing him ever deeper into the black flames, burning razors tearing across his flesh. The werewolf's cries echoed out of the valley, causing Frankenstein and his creation to shudder. But even as Karim was pushed further into the darkness, the black tendrils retracted back into the shadows. The process was slow, and for Karim it was unnaturally painful, but in time the black barrier opened a portal just large enough for a man to enter. Once the hole stabilized, Rafik tossed Karim's unconscious body aside like so much garbage. It was about that time that Victor reached the bottom with his abomination in tow.

"Come Victor," Rafik said happily as he entered past the now broken barrier, "The secrets of the forgotten past await."

"Adam," Victor said to his creation as he followed behind Rafik, glancing over his shoulder at Adam, "Keep an eye on the vagrant, and make sure no one else enters."

Adam snorted and sneered in response, but Victor simply disappeared into the darkness. 


	29. Damned City Chapter 29

The world of Karim Tadros was drowned in pain, and for what seemed like years, the werewolf's consciousness was lost to agony. The pain began to ebb and subside away, and slowly Karim's senses returned. A musty scent invaded his nostrils then, and the taste of dust soon followed. Karim coughed weakly, absently wishing despite the still present painful sensations that he could see again. His hearing returned as his consciousness recovered, but all he could hear were footsteps amid otherwise total silence. There was no wind, but wherever he was, Karim's skin was cold as it would be on any desert night. He could tell that he wasn't wearing much clothing, nothing save for a cloth kilt and ragged old sandals that flopped against a stone path, the sound echoing through a tunnel. The haze in his eyes cleared last of all, but this sense had little to show him save for the dim light of a smoldering torch that illuminated stone walls covered in carvings Karim couldn't understand. But for all the mental sluggishness Karim felt, he seemed to be moving just fine. In fact, even as he was reawakening, it seemed as if he was walking just fine. Slowly, Karim tried to reorient himself, but the task was impossible. His senses no longer seemed to be his own, even though everything he sensed seemed vaguely familiar despite the fact that Karim had never experienced anything like these sensations. He had no idea where he was but still felt as if he had chosen to be there.

Karim was surprised when his perspective began to change, to move forward even though Karim had not chosen to walk. This dark place and the frightening unknown it represented for him was enough to make Karim panic and try and turn backwards, but somehow he could not. Inwardly Karim struggled against the innevitable as his journey continued moving forward, his body familiar but no longer his own. A quickened heart beat throbbed in the back of Karim's ears and an inner voice was screaming at Karim that what he was doing was forbidden and could be punished with his death. Why he was going through with this, Karim couldn't say, but that same inner voice was also trying to convince Karim that this was the only way to survive. A sharp pain in his stomach seemed only to confirm that voice, leaving Karim more confused than ever. And still he walked forward, the light of the torch shining just bright enough to allow an archway leading to another room where the light reflected off of an uncountable number of shining surfaces. As the portal was passed through, the shining surfaces began to glow in the colors of gold, silver and even more exotic materials. His stomach still gnawing at him from within, Karim wished he could grab those wondrous things and escape from this terrible place a much richer man.  
But it was not to be. No longer in control of his actions, Karim approached a man-shaped box bearing the images of both a human face and the visages of animal headed creatures he had never seen before that for some reason didn't seem out of place on what he eventually identified as a casket. Because of this, Karim quietly realized that this world and his senses were not his own, although exactly what they were he could not tell. Hands that appeared to be controlled by forces beyond his perception shot out forward towards the gold leaf covered coffin, a simple shovel serving as a crowbar to pry open the lid. Opened for only a moment, Karim could smell a barrage of scent unlike anything he had imagined existed coming from the casket as a thick black mist began flooding out from within. The mist was enough to cause Karim's host body to drop both his shovel and torch out of fear and start scrambling towards the underground chamber's exit. Karim knew the sensations accompanying fear far too well; his pulse quickened, his hands started to shake and his breath became strained and ragged.

When Karim reached the chamber's exit the black mist had longer smothered the room in darkness. Suddenly, two oval shaped orbs of unearthly yellow light appeared in Karim's sight. He stopped for a split second to consider what had appeared before him before he was just as suddenly hurled across the room with a powerful but unseen force. The darkness fell upon Karim then, smothering him only moments after he had the breath knocked out of him by being flung across the stone chamber. The ethereal yellow eyes returned just as Karim felt ready to black out again. A faint blue glow seeped into the chamber as the eyes slowly came closer, illuminating the most frightening figure Karim had seen yet. The visage was eight feet tall and bedecked in regalia Karim recognized as that of a mortician, a figured shaped like Karim's monstrous form covered with fur as black as any starless night sky, its eyes still glowing terribly as if they were burning with the fire of a world far removed from earth. It radiated an aura of nothing short of divinity and walked calmly and casually, none of Karim's bloodlust evident in his tormenter. Whatever this divine terror was, it defied everything Karim had believed about gods and faith and made him question man's true place in the world in light of such divine might. And in the back of Karim's mind came the knowledge that a part of him recognized this dark figure and was more terrified because of the implications it had for Karim in both the world of the living and that of the world beyond death. Destruction and damnation seemed certain at this point, feelings that only grew as the shadowy figured bared its fangs in a somber sort of glare that chilled Karim to the very core of his being, completely unaware of why he felt such abject terror.

The darkened form approached Karim's prone, broken and horrified body, crouching down to meet a wide eyed gaze with its own otherworldly sight. The creature spoke in an earth shaking whisper in a tongue Karim couldn't understand. The implications of the whispers though were known to Karim intuitively. For the crime of defying the force of nature with the divine aura and exploiting the dead, Karim's host would be damned forever to serve the figure unlike the debt had been paid off. This damnation would not only affect Karim's host, but also the host's family for every generation until the debt of sin incurred on this night was balanced out. Held in place by the tangible darkness, Karim and his host could do nothing but listen attentively to their condemnation being spelled out for them. So long as the sins of the father remained, the figure declared in harsh whispers and vicious murmurs, his family would know nothing but fear when the moon hung in the sky and liberation from their own humanity so long as they succumbed to the wolf within. Their only escape from this state of beastial would be when they served the dark figure's enigmatic purpose.

And with that, a black hand pressed against Karim's forehead, and while there were no visible workings, Karim screamed as something for a reality separate from earth was allowed on to earth and forced into Karim's body and soul by way of a passage pried open against Karim's will. Through the pain, Karim dimly realized that he was being changed in way that was both alien to Karim's host and all too familiar to Karim. Deep below the ground, Karim could tell the moon was ablaze with silvery light as the wolf within overtook him, causing flashbacks that forced Karim to relive his first shift into a monster all over again. Unspeakable fury, unlimited energy and animalistic desire rushed to Karim's brain while his body exploded into that of a wild fiend that was as much beast as man. The shadow cloaked figure faded from view, but the misery of shapeshifting remained and Karim's howl of pain echoed through the desolate stone hallways before the newly born werewolf charged down the darkened passageway and out towards the welcoming wastelands above, where he could run under the moon wild and free, unhindered by the taboos and laws of humanity. And, after a lifetime of ardently following the laws of the land and the edicts of men, the choice to run across the desert wastelands seemed significant in Karim's mind. Running on all fours now, Karim bounded out of the tomb as guards started to assemble behind him, and soon their spears were being hurled towards Karim but the reborn beast man felt nothing as he kept pushing further towards the endless desert. That invigorating frenzied dash towards nowhere in particular seemed to last forever, each moment stretching out into hours. Karim lost track of how long he was running as well, for he was as enthralled by this sudden rush of excitement from being unleashed after a lifetime of self induced slavery as his host. Eventually the dunes and starlight blurred together and Karim finally slipped back into unconsciousness again, casting him out of the cold deserts and dark tombs where he was no longer a terrified vagrant but a finally free man and hurling him back into his world.

Karim returned to consciousness eventually, wearing his werewolf form outside of a strange ruin that reeked of evil. And in less than a second of waking up, Karim knew full well what he was to do. 


End file.
